Told You So
by uncmeister
Summary: No one ever believed Tweek about those damn underpants gnomes, that is, no one until now. With a gnome invasion underway, can the unluckiest boy in the world and his 'sorta' best friend save humanity and its delicates from certain doom? Eventual Creek.
1. The Almost Perfect Day

**DISCLAIMER: I, uncmeister, do solemnly swear that I do not own South Park and that despite the uncanny resemblances, I am neither Matt Stone nor Trey Parker. Surprise, surprise. **

**WARNINGS IN PLACE FOR: misguided attempts at humor, an unsettling amount of Underpants Gnomes, hippies and British theatrical troupes, a disturbing lack of underpants, terrible grammar and a general misuse of the English language, and guess what folks? It's slashy. **

**PAIRINGS: Craig/Tweek; Others may or may not appear and if they do, expect the unexpected.**

**SUMMARY: No one ever believed poor Tweek Tweak about the underpants gnomes and their thefty ways, not even his 'sorta' best friend Craig. They called him crazy, coo-coo kachoo, and fruitier than fruity pebbles which by the way is very fruity. But the fact was that he had just known he was right, and now at this time of global crisis everyone will soon see that there just may be more to underpants gnomes than a silly boy's over-caffeinated imagination and few missing undergarments. Will contain: two angry and confused little boys, one gnome invasion, a mediocre traveling Theatre Troupe, Hell, outer space, third world countries, a ridiculous number of caffeinated products, and the golden briefs of God himself. Oh joy.**

**AN: So, this is my first South Park fic ever. I believe this is a Kodak moment, can someone give me a camera or something? No? Damn. Oh well I'll just commit this to memory. Moving on, I just wanted to use this time to thank my good friend KC, or commonly known as Kenny's Space Cadet, for motivating me to go through with this as well as for the magnificent job of beta-ing said story and to say that she is still indeed magically delicious. Trust me, if Lucky ever gets the boot, she's your girl to go to. If there's any other vocab problems they're probably my fault. There then, read and tell me what you think. Please and thank you :D**

**-uncmeister**

* * *

**Phase 0: The Mother of All Prologues**

He never believed me. Hell, no one did but then again, who would believe some caffeine jacked fruit loop like me? Even _I_ barely believe me, but the fact was that I knew it this time; I just _knew _I was right. That creaking by my bedside at night when the lamp was turned off? The thousands of standard white briefs missing from my dresser drawer? The pitter pattering of one too many hoofed feet and the horrible stench of musk and sulfur?

Oh yes. Just like how I had known that those creepy Muppet things were actually evil and run by a group of Russian communists sent to brainwash unsuspecting Americans with bad humor and ridiculous and _highly _unnecessary theatrics, I knew that those gnomes, those god damn _gnomes, _were real and _not _one of my many questionable and reasonably deranged hallucinations.

I also knew that soon--soon they would turn their beady, soulless black pits upon the rest of our sleeping town and begin to unleash their diabolical and pint sized rage on underpants drawers everywhere until they had all of their needed arsenal to declare war against humanity and it's delicates.

They had called me crazy. In fact, they also called me nuts, delusional, fruiter than fruity pebbles (which is very fruity by the way) and a menace to the concept of sanity_, _but you see, I, Tweek Tweak, was aware of the startling truth about the underground world, or simply underworld, of the gnomes and their heathen ways. I knew that it was just a matter of time before the gnomes came up with something horrible and directed their pointed hats and smiling bearded faces at the rest of the world and it's underpants. I had even been nice enough to warn them of it, to tell them that yes, gnomes do exist and yes, they do steal your undergarments while you snore peacefully in your beds.

But did they ever listen to me? Of course not. And now? Now they'll see; they'll all see that all of those cold, dark and incredibly painful years of shrieking and carrying on about gnomes and missing underpants had something more to them besides caffeine induced paranoia. But hey, they can't say I didn't warn them.

* * *

**Phase 1: The Almost Perfect Day**

God, I'm so excited I think I could wet myself! Wait, never mind that sounds weird. That'd be gross _and_ I'm in the midst of another 'wonderful' day at the local scholastic institute for mediocre learning, South Park Elementary. Today is a good day, a very good day indeed. Why you may ask? Because today just happens to be my birthday! I'm turning 'nifty' nine (Butters taught me that word a couple days ago) and Jesus, I can't wait!

No, really; I _can't. _I get too fidgety and twitchy and have a sharp tendency to hyperventilate, but anyways, just the thought of the _coffee_, the coffee _cake_, the _COFFEE,_ and all of my friends crowded around my dinner table singing 'Happy Birthday' to me is enough to send me into a violent but none the less cheerful panic attack. Not only that, but it's just that type of afternoon where you can practically feel the good vibes strumming through the air like caffeine hitting the blood stream. Everyone's just happy and content without a worry in sight.

I just wish that whole spiel about good days pertained to me.

Oh no, I'm not being negative, I'm just being _realistic. _For I, Tweek Tweak, am possibly the unluckiest person in the world. Craig once told me I'm like this giant, unsightly, blond haired magnet when it comes to attracting chaos and destruction and even told me that my residence here was most likely the reason why this town was so fucked up. I still believe him to this day.

But even if you're the most unlucky person in the world, you can still hope right? Surely I at least have THAT if not luck. Actually don't answer that, I'll just go with it and enjoy my day because no matter what, it's going to be PERFECT. Even if it kills me.

Then again_, _when I put it like _that… _

I look up from doodling coffee beans in the margin of my paper and look around the poorly decorated classroom. The walls are covered with finger paint montages of Abraham Lincoln, George Washington, and Adolf Hitler from President's day and crudely drawn depictions of family's and concentration camps. Stan and Kyle are whispering to each other and Clyde and Token are playing paper football, snickering when the paper ball goes AWOL and hit's Pip in the back of his blond French head. Craig's busy flipping Bebe off, Wendy's glaring at Cartman, and Kenny's reading this month's edition of Hustler: XXX-mas Edition underneath his desk. All the while, the teacher drones on and on about how to love your childhood years because "once you get to college no one gives a flying fuck about you and you're either on your own or dead in a gutter with 50 STD's of unknown origin because of that sleazy Puerto Rican gigolo you met clubbing Saturday night instead of studying." What does jello have to do with anything anyways?

I don't like Mr. Garrison; never have, never will. I'm dead sure that Mr. Garrison, along with all the other male teachers are a part of a cult that performs cannibalistic rituals every Tuesday evening at 9 pm. I've never bothered to stick around for too long because not only am I unlucky and hyperactive in the worst way, I'm also a chicken _but_ I've heard enough in the hallways to piece together the real identity of their 'plans.'

Seriously, I was just standing there by my locker one fateful afternoon and I saw my cannibal teacher actually conspiring with the other male staff! They were talking in hushed voices about various members (men AND women) of the staff and tasting their 'sweet, sweet meats' while they licked their lips and rubbed their hands together. I don't know what a 'snatch' is or what sweet, sweet meats they're getting at but the fact that they were drooling all over themselves andintermingling eating processes with other teachers (and Mrs. Cartman) in the same sentence MUST mean cannibalism right? Right!

Aside from the whole cannibalism thing, Mr. Garrison also has this creepy hand puppet named Mr. Hat who reappeared not so long ago as well. No one knows how he got back, but then again, no one really cares. I personally don't like Mr. Hat either; in fact, I've never trusted a puppet and I never, ever will. Especially with that creepy striped hat…and those wide unblinking eyes. It's like they can see into my soul…like they're plotting something...watching and waiting for the perfect moment to strike…

GAH! He's looking right at me! Mr. Garrison that is. Maybe he's psychic…Oh god, what if he heard me thinking those things?! SHIT! Why didn't I consider that beforehand?! What if he holds me after school and knocks me out with chloroform to whisk me away to his cult?? They'd probably dress me up in degrading costumes and make me re-enact Broadway musicals! Or even worse: sacrifice me to their pagan Gods in some freaky teacher ritual!! Or even more worse: make me sing Broadway for them, then sacrifice me, and THEN harvest my bodily organs to sell on the black market! Oh Jesus! What if they cut out my liver and sell it to a children's hospital?! I'll die if they take it!! Oh god this is _way_ too much pressure!

…Oh. He just wanted to ask me if I knew the answer to the question on the board. Phew, what a relief.

I quickly stutter out an "I don't know" and grip the edge of my desk with both hands, staring intently at the fake wood grain of my desk until he finally turns to his next victim. I keep my eyes downcast and rest my hand on me cheek, drumming my fingers lightly over the hard surface. Our school is so cheap that it's desks aren't even made of real wood. They're plastic and covered in wood printed linoleum. It doesn't matter though; the fact is that it still _looks_ like wood so, it still calms me down. Kind of. Staring at things like that helps me relax for some reason. Sometimes when I get really nervous, I have this habit of counting the number of tiles on the ceiling or cracks in the sidewalk. Once I even kept a tally on how many holes I found in a slice of Swiss cheese, and I've come to know that there are a LOT of holes in Swiss cheese.

As I'm tapping away at my desk, I feel the hairs rise on the back of my neck and I get that feeling like I'm being watched. Again.

It's been happening frequently at school, at the grocery store, at home, in the _shower_--I think I'm being stalked. I even told my parents but they wouldn't believe me. So far in my short life, I've made claims to roughly 564 cases of stalking, all proven to be either false or improperly backed up. Most people don't listen to me anymore and just go 'Mmhm right' or 'bull shit' whenever I'm talking about something like that. It's so frustrating because I know I'm right, _I know it_, but I'm usually too spazzed out to get angry or even remotely pissed off. Believe me; when your life is at stake and no one will help you and you also happen to be _me_, you don't get pissed off, you just piss your pants. Metaphorically speaking. That was mostly back in third grade when I had my problem but I've finally begun to grow out of it. I hope.

Minutes pass, and the eyes don't leave me. My nerves are screaming and my left eyelid starts to jump. I try to take a deep breath of air to calm me down but it's no use. Whoever's staring at me isn't relenting and my cool is completely blown. Oh God. What if it's one of those Mormons again? Or a the ocassional overly persistent Scientologist? I finally tear my eyes away from my desk and scan the entire classroom for the pair of eyes watching me, ready to scream "I AM PERFECTLY HAPPY WITH LIFE, NOTHING IS MISSING AND I AM NOT INTERESTED IN CONVERTING OR CHARADES".

But…no one's looking at me. They're all too involved with their various ways of not paying attention to notice a spazzy overcaffeinated psychopath going of his mind right next to them.

Crap, I can't even make it to lunch time without something terrifying or mortally dangerous happening! Dammit, Tweek quit panicking! _Maybe _it's just my imagination or rabid paranoia getting the best of me…again. I pick up my pencil and start doodling a particular Turkish roast that I like a lot and--GAH! They're back again! Christ, it is a Mormon isn't it? They're just too damn persistent! Wait…are Mormons even allowed in schools?! Those sneaky bastards!

I can still feel the eyes burning a hole right through my head but by the time I jerk my head around to look for them they're gone again.

I don't like this, not one bit. Something bad's gonna happen, I know it! And when it does, I'm gonna freak out and start screaming again and Craig's gonna get pissed off at me and everyone'll start laughing and then I'm gonna wind up looking like an idiot again and oh god it's just too much pressure!

I look up at the air vent placed above my desk because I know Mormon's are pretty crafty. As my eyes meet the grate my heart stops, sputters, than slams on the gas and I let out the most perfect Hollywood shriek ever heard as a pointed red hat and terrifyingly long white beard disappear into the darkness of the vent, a pair of blue plaid boxers takiing their place.

* * *

I-I knew it…

"Tweek, what the hell was that?" Craig asks me as I cower in fear underneath my desk. The lunch bell rang a few seconds after I screamed and everyone decided to leave Craig up to dealing with me as always. No one can really put up with me but I forgive them, sometimes I can't even put up with myself. I like to think of Craig as my best friend, but I'd never say it out loud. One, because I'd bust an ear drum and two, because he'd probably throw up at the thought. But I still like to think it even if he can be a total asshole sometimes. At least he still hangs out with me even though I'm a totally spaz.

"Th-the gnomes…they're…oh Jesus Craig! They're t-tracking me!" I squeak out, holding my binder above my head to shield myself from the unseen gazes.

I knew it. I so, totally knew it.

Craig smacks his palm against his forehead and mutters a couple obscenities to himself.

"The gnomes….are tracking you. That's a new one." Even though I can't see him, I know he's probably shaking his head in pity at me just because he always does that and I've hung out with him long enough to notice his tendencies. "How many?" He asks casually.

"I-I don't know…-ngh- maybe f-forty or a hundred or something!" I whisper loudly because I suck royally at being quiet.

"No dude, I meant how many cups of joe you on? The shaking you're doing would put a jack hammer to shame," Craig corrects me bluntly. I'd like to imagine he's leaning against the desk behind mine and staring down at me like I'm some quivering idiot, which I am.

"No man! Seriously! They're tracking me! I-I saw them in the vents! And look! Look there's underwear in the vent! UNDERWEAR!!" I yell and point a shaking finger from underneath my desk up at the air vent.

Craig is quiet for a second so I guess he must have looked up and isn't saying anything because he's in shock too. Or not.

"What underwear?" He asks and I stop shaking for a moment and poke my head out from my temporary bomb shelter. By god he's right…this is bad…this is really, really bad.

"B-but they were just there! They were plaid a-and blue and everything! Plaid is the pattern of EVIL, Craig! EVIL! Haven't you seen those -GAH- kilts before?! They're man skirts for cripe's sake! DUDES AREN'T SUPPOSED TO WEAR SKIRTS!!" Craig looks down at me skeptically and gives me one of his stupid 'Silly rabbit, Trix are for kids' smiles.

"Tweek you're such a total fruit cake." He shakes his head and shoves a hand in his jacket's pocket.

"Craig you g-gotta believe me!" I screech. I can already feel my teeth starting to chatter and my heart begin it's terrifying plummet from my chest cavity into my pelvis as the fear begins to eat away at me.

Oh god, if Craig doesn't believe me then no one will! That means I'll be left to fend for myself! I'll be like a delicious roast pig in a den of lions! Then the gnomes will get me and _really _steal ALL of my underwear--not just one pair at a time! OH GOD! What if they set me on fire or something? Oh man, my parents would get really mad at me! They'd probably think I set myself on fire because by the time they get up there those little bearded bastards would be long gone! They'd probably cart me off to Juvi or god, PRISON, and then I'd have to take public showers with horny convicts and then I'd probably spaz and drop the soap and end up butt raped by some huge ex-killer named Jerome who'd have to kill me off to keep me from squealing and hide my body in the chili!

"TWEEK, for the love of God calm down!" Craig interrupts my mental rant and I look up at him mortified, my hand covering my mouth. Dammit, I was thinking out loud again wasn't I? Oh, come _ON! _

"-ngh-Sorry Craig" I mutter and tug at the messy yellow chaos on the top of my head mindlessly. He watches me a minute, his gray-blue eyes lingering before he shrugs and hops off the desk.

"Come on dude, let's just go to lunch. I'm starving." He frowns when I don't loosen my grip on the steel legs of the desk and then adds "Besides, if there really were gnomes here, would you want to stay in an empty classroom with gnomes in the air vents?" When I dive out from under my bomb shelter, accidentally knocking over two innocent desks, he gives an accomplished nod. "Thought so. Now let's get goin'. Token owes me two things of Fruit Gushers plus a Snack Pack and I'd like to make it to lunch so I can rub it in the fatass' face."

"B-but Craig, doesn't anything that comes within a -ngh- yard of him get sucked into his vortex of a mouth?" I jump when Craig laughs. I don't know why he'd laugh; I'm being totally serious here. Eric Cartman's face has obviously been synchronized with a black hole or something. I would know, I've seen people walk up to him and disappear into thin air. At first I thought he swallowed him whole but…well actually I still think he does.

"True Tweek, very true" Craig heads for the door as I fumble for my back pack that landed on the floor. I cast a wary gaze up at the vent and pray to St. Peter Rabbit that the gnome hasn't returned. It hasn't, so I turn to leave, Craig locking the classroom door for the teacher as we head out the door towards the second worst place in the world; the cafeteria.

* * *

The cafeteria is a cold, cruel place for people like me.

There are the stares, the glares, the sneers, and the leers, but I don't pay that much attention to those anymore. It's the clinking and clattering of plastic cutlery and lunch trays that bothers me nowadays. Sometimes I can't stand it because it's just so _loud _and I swear if the devil were to have a musical preference that would be it (or the sound track for Sex and the City knowing Satan…). It's okay though because hanging out with Craig, Clyde, and Token makes up for it. They make school a lot easier I think.

I settle down into my seat next between Craig and Token and pull out my trusty green thermos filled to the brim with nice hot coffee, specially brewed for my birthday. Green is a calming color for me as long as it's not too bright or too dark (dark green is too ominous and bright green is just a risky color). It makes me think of leaves and nature and that sometimes calms me down too. Oh god, that sounds so gay doesn't it?! I'm gonna end up turning into some hippie tree hugger and have to go ultra vegan and wear tie-dye shirts and sandals! I hate tie-dye shirts and sandals!

Token and Clyde are talking excitedly about something and Craig's staying true to his word and waggling a pack of fruit snacks underneath Cartman's piggy nose. I have half a mind to warn him not to get too close because the portal could open and send him to another dimension, but I choose not to say anything because Craig would probably get really angry at me. I shrug it off and tune into Clyde and Token's conversation.

"What'd they look like?" Token is asking a very smug looking Clyde over his chocolate milk carton.

Clyde grins and says, "Kinda…squishy I guess, like water balloons or sumthin."

"Dude, water balloons?"

"Yeah! I wonder if you poked them if they would pop."

"Haha, or deflate."

"No man, EXPLODE!"

"GAH! WHAT'S EXPLODING?!"

"Dude relax," Token says to me. "Clyde you wanna tell him?" He gives a sly grin towards Clyde and Clyde returns it, his brown eyes glinting mischievously. Oh boy, this is gonna be something big, I can already tell.

"Okay Tweek I'm going to tell you something but first you've gotta pinky promise me you won't start screaming it to the world," Clyde tells me while and extending a pinky in my direction. I can't tell whether he's being sarcastic or not…

"S-sure guys. What is it?" I ask taking up his pinky in mine and giving it a little shake, but its more like a jerk. I wanna know what's going on; it must be really awesome, considering Token and Clyde's expressions.

"Good. So you know how I hurt my knee in P.E.?" Clyde begins and I nod showing him that I'm following along. He'd tripped over his own two feet laughing his ass off when we jogged by a chalk depiction of a penis with a top hat doing the horizontal tango with a busty stick figure. Of course, I had been convinced that he'd broken his leg and that it was my fault because I had pointed it out in the first place. Of course, Craig told me it wasn't, my fault that is, and that the real culprit was the picture itself. He even gave the picture the finger for good measure.

"Yeah what -ngh- a-about it? Oh god! You're knee isn't gonna explode is it? Is it?! Oh my god that'd be horrible!" I'm shaking so bad I almost drop my open thermos on me but Clyde quickly puts a hand on my arm to qwell the shaking.

"No Tweek, but if it did it'd be your fault" Clyde pats my head with a little smile. Oh okay that's good to know--wait…

"W-what?!"

"Just kidding" Bastard! I open my mouth to say something, anything, but decide to let it drop and he continues. "Anyways I didn't go to the clinic, I went somewhere better. You see, Coach told me I had to change out and I did, but instead of going off to the nurse's, I checked to see if the girls locker room door was open or not…" He grins off into the distance and then looks back at me.

"I thought that they a-always -ngh- locked the doors?" I ask in awe.

"Yeah that's what I thought. But I guess I got lucky – this time, the door was unlocked." His grin gets even wider. He and Token exchange a high five. "So you know what I did? You know the showers?"

"Yeah. N-no one ever uses them," I confirm cocking my head to the side. A piece of hair is stabbing into my eye but I just blow it out of the way.

"I hid in them….a_nd I didn't get caught." _

"OH MY GOD! CLYDE?! D-DOES THAT MEAN YOU -GAH- GOT TO SEE THE G-GIRL'S CHANGI--?!"

"Tweek be _quiet!" _Clyde whispers exasperatedly quickly covering my mouth with his bare hand. He usually takes off his gloves inside because he doesn't like touching his food with them. He says he doesn't like the food sticking to them or something.

"Thowwy," I apologize even though my mouth is muffled by his sweaty hand. He grimaces and quickly takes his hand off my mouth and wipes my drool on his jeans. "So you saw the girls -ngh- change?" I ask.

"_Oh yeah_" Clyde brags and leans back and casually stretches all cool like. "And I saw 'em naked too." Token and I both gasp in awe at this wondrous feat. Naked girls? Whoa….

"Dude," we breathe, simultaneously glancing at one another, then back at Clyde.

"What did they l-look like?" I ask. I'm probably looking at him like he's the second coming of Christ. Maybe that's wrongly put; make that 322nd coming of Christ, but either way, he's definitely enjoying the limelight, judging by that smug smirk.

"Awesome," was all Clyde managed to say before bursting out into gleeful giggles and kicking his feet underneath the tables.

"What're you guys giggling about?" Craig walks up to the table looking amused. I look over his shoulder and sure enough there's an angry Cartman mouthing off about Jews and Craig. Craig must have had his fun but I'm just relieved he wasn't sucked into a vortex and sent to another dimension or eaten alive. OH GOD! If he did then it'd be my fault for letting him go wouldn't it?! I'd never be able to live with the guilt!

"Clyde snuck into the g-girls locker room and saw -ngh- n-naked girls!" I blurt out and Token nods in agreement while Clyde just claps to himself in glee.

"Dude no way!!" Craig slams his hands on the table from behind me and stares wide eyed at Clyde. He's probably thinking that Clyde looks a bit like Jesus too.

"Yes, way." Clyde reaches over to his back pack and pulls out a pair of hello kitty panties.

"_Dude._" All three of us gasp, staring mesmerized at the frilly pink polka dotted garment.

"Dude…If I could see real live naked chicks, I would be _so _happy," Craig declares, while nodding his head sagely. I watch the yellow poof ball at the top of his hat bob up and down with every nod. I wonder if it'll ever fall off.

"Likewise," Token agrees and nods as well.

"Got that right." Clyde gives another cheeky smile but it quickly turns into a confused frown as does the other dreamy smiles while they wait for me to say something. When I still don't say anything they all turn to stare at me. I fidget a little under their confused gazes and finally break the awkward silence.

"W-what're you guys staring at? I didn't forget my pants again did I?!" I ask looking down and double checking my clothes and let out a huge sigh of relief. My pants are indeed intact and are even in their correct place.

"Wouldn't you like to see naked chicks?" Craig asks me curiously completely bypassing my other pants related questions and I twitch awkwardly as the other kids at the table turns towards me.

Hmm….when I think about it, I'm not really that interested in it at all. I'm more interested in the _mysteries _of the female body. Like this one time, I saw this movie and this dude's wife had like guns in her boobs and she got really pissed at him and started shooting at him trying to assassinate him and shit! There were also fat Scottish dudes in kilts and a lot of tie-dye and stuff, and ever since then I've always wanted to see if other girls had machine guns in their boobs too. In my own opinion, I think it'd be pretty important to know because I wouldn't want my first girlfriend to accidentally shoot me in the eye or something, if I ever got a girlfriend that is. But other than that not really…but do I say that? I don't know…Do I, or do I not? To be or not to be? Yes? NO? YES? Gah! Too…much…PRESSURE!

"I -ngh- guess so" I shrug my shoulders but it's more of a sharp jerk. Craig frowns and raises a brow at me. It disappears under his messy black bangs and blue snow hat that he insists on keeping firmly on his head at all times. The only way I know that he has black hair is because of his bangs that poke out from beneath the hat from time to time.

"What do you mean, '_you guess so'_?" He asks me settling down in his chair. He pulls out an opened package of the aforementioned Fruit Gushers from his pocket. He reaches into the yellow packet and pops one of the fruit snacks in his mouth, chewing thoughtfully.

"Well…" I explain to the rest of them the concept of safety first and he and everyone else at the table explode into laughter. "What're you -ngh- l-laughing at?!" I can't keep the shrill out of my voice. I hate it when they laugh at me. It isn't funny!

"Machine guns in their _boobs? _Oh my God Tweek!" Craig snickers and I can see the bright red fruit snacks stuck between his teeth. "Hey Clyde, did you see any weaponry hidden in their racks?" He turns and nudges the brunette with an elbow and another obnoxious grin.

Clyde shakes his head and makes a very good point. "You can't hide anything in there man, most of them didn't even have a rack to speak of."

"No shit Sherlock. We're nine!" Token rolls his eyes and takes a bite out of his fancy looking club sandwich.

"True, true but at least I can still say I saw a naked chick before any of you!" Clyde points at us with a stubby finger.

"Touche."

I watch them talk about girls and boobs and stuff and as I happily sip away at my coffee, I can't help but be relieved they aren't talking about me anymore. I forgive them and all, but it still stings a little when they pick on me, even if it is in good nature. (I think)

No one says anything about my silence since I usually just stay quiet and watch them and their conversations unfold. If you haven't noticed, I have a tendency to ruin everything with all of my twitching and naturally ridiculously screechy voice. I think it's best for all of us if I just keep my mouth shut every now and then. Besides, it's nice to just listen to them talk.

I take another swig of coffee and smack my lips together in appreciation. I can already feel the caffeine making its way through my veins and hitting that spot in my chest perfectly, instantly heating it up. Yes, everything is perfect. No problems, no worries, and no gnomes.

"AY! TWEEK!"

"GAH! C-C-CARTMAN?!"

Or not.

I turn in my seat to see Cartman waddling over to our table looking completely freaked out. His eyes are bugged out of his pudgy head and his chestnut hair brings an entirely new meaning to 'helter-skelter.' He keeps looking over his shoulders at something I don't see and is even babbling to himself. I can't help but wonder if that's how I look all the time…._nah._

"Tweek…Tweek I need to talk to you," he demands of me, wringing his hands together anxiously, his eyes everywhere.

"Oh Jesus, what happened?! Was it bad?! Oh god, oh god, it was bad wasn't it?!" I throw my hands over my mouth as I watch him nod wordlessly and my horror slowly grows until it's this merciless beast destroying my insides.

"What crawled up your ass and died fat ass? King Kong? Godzilla? Any other giant mutated animals that come to mind?" Craig sniggers, turning around in his seat to look at fatass--I mean Cartman.

"Screw you Craig!" Cartman glares little Neo-Nazi daggers at Craig, but Craig just casually gives him the finger before turning back to his lunch. He makes a big deal moaning about how good those gushers were just to annoy him and it seems to be working.

"Ergh, Cartman? You -ngh- wanted something?" I ask breaking Cartman's two minute glare and at first it looks like he forgot why he was here but he quickly recovers his fearful gaze and looks like _he's _gonna wet himself. That'd be a twist.

"Tweek…Tweek, it's my underpants." Eric's words hit my ears like a doctor's do when they tell a patient they have terminal cancer and that they've been having an affair with his or her spouse, "They're…… they're gone."

I don't say anything for a while. I just stare, and stare some more at Cartman's pudgy frame barely processing this information overload. And then I scream as all of my hopes for a perfect day are spilt across the cheap cafeteria floor along with the steaming remains of my coffee.

**To Be Continued...**

**

* * *

**

End Note:

**Oh? You read it? Well then, what an interesting turn of events! Now you get to see me rant on about how this is my first south park fic ever and how fruity it is! NO. No, you don't if you didn't catch the hinted sarcasm. Now you get to listen to me say this: Tweek is awesome and yet so under appreciated. Therefore, I, the great uncmeister hath decided that Tweek deserves his spot light and that I am ready to give it to him. Ye who objecteth shall receiveth the almighty finger...eth. Lol, just kidding, just kidding. But just so you know, I have pretty good hopes for this story and I can't wait to see how it flys with you guys. With that said, I'd appreciate it A LOT if you would review and let me know whether to _pitch it _or_ ditch it._ It's your call. Well not really, but you know what I mean :D Oh and by the way, I'm well aware that elementary schools don't have locker rooms or showers but I don't really care. Those panties are damn important.**


	2. The Unlucky and the Hunted

**AN: Well then here is chapter 2 of the Told You So saga. Thanks again to my partner in crime and royal adviser, KC for the magnificent job of betaing. If there's any grammar fuck ups it's probably my fault. Transferring documents to fanfiction seems to like making my words stick together. Believing me, it's annoying. I leave you now to read :D (**

**PS- THANK YOU FOR REVIEWING MY FIRST CHAPTER! Or even reading it for that matter. It makes Brittany a very happy girl.**

* * *

**Phase 2: The Unlucky and the Hunted**

I love coffee, have I ever told you that before? If I didn't I'm sure you've somehow managed to notice that me and coffee are very close friends. In fact, I drink it so often I wouldn't be surprised if my insides smelled like Harbucks' caramel macchiatos. Is that healthy? Oh man, I hope it's nothing too serious…Anyways, it's like the only thing that can ever successfully calm me down. The sad part ist that while it does trick, whatever inner peace I gain only lasts for a few minutes. I think it might just be the actual _process_ of drinking it that does the trick, but either way, on an average day-to-day basis I take in about…8-10 full thermoses of coffee. I don't sleep much either so that includes late night lattes as well.

After Cartman's intrusion, my perfect day took the plummet to total disaster. It took 5 full cups of piping hot dark Colombian roast to calm me down enough to remove me from my fetal position on the cafeteria floor and somehow by divine damnation, I ended up here, stuck waiting outside Mr. Mackey's office with the other neer doer, Craig--Me here for disrupting and scaring the crap out of everyone in the lunch room, and Craig for punching Eric for freaking me out and giving the finger to the staff. Again.

I guess you could say I really lucked out when Craig slugged Cartman. I don't think I could have handled what he else he had to say and at least now I can buy some time before I have to face him again. Why? Because Cartman is ridiculously persistent and he won't stop until he get's whatever he wants. There's no way I can get away with avoiding him! He'd probably hunt me down even if I tried to flee the country! A hiccup of panic rises in my throat and I clutch my current coffee cup frantically. I seriously need to quit thinking about this.

Instead, I cast my eyes downward and take in the creamy foam swaying gently with the rippling coffee--rippling because, naturally, my hands are going off like a jackhammer. After about ten long minutes of staring at foam, I let out a groan of frustration. It looks like my other trick of staring at coffee until I get into a self-induced meditative state, for some reason unknown to mankind (or maybe just me), isn't calming me down in the least. Ack! NO! I should be as cool as a clam by now! (How cool clams are I have no idea, but in this case they are _very_ cool.) I frantically sip at the hot coffee in a poorly executed attempt to quench my rising panic attack but unfortunately the effort goes in vain and all I manage to quench is all feeling in my tongue.

OH GOD!! Why won't anything work?! This is so not good, not good, not good, not GOOD!! I can't take this kind of pressure! If this goes on any longer I'm going to wind up doing the Irish jig with whatever sanity I have left and _I can't fucking dance!! _GAH!! Why does this have to happen now?! Why God, why?!

Because dumb ass, there are GNOMES at your fucking school, the wiser voice in my head booms. They're searching for you and your underpants as well as everyone else's as you speak, you repulsive, twitchy idiot!

NO….no it can't be! Cartman's just…just screwing around with me! That's all! I mean, why wouldn't he? He knows that gnomes exist because only him, Kyle and Stan know about it! (Maybe Kenny too since I can't remember if he was alive or dead when that happened) Those cool as Hell bastards always just play dumb to make me look even crazier by saying, when the subject comes up, 'Gnomes? What gnomes could you possibly be talking about Tweek?'!! Of course Cartman would pull something like this to scare the crap out of me!! I bet they're all still laughing about it in class too!!

Tweek, look around you! You SAW them in the vents right? They left signs Tweek, signs! Remember the plaid?! That's like a direct connection to kilts! Kilts are MAN SKIRTS TWEEK!! MAN SKIRTS!! And did you see the label?! It was from FRUIT OF THE LOOM!! It's only, like, THE ultimate sign for the apocalypse!! Don't you get it?! They could be watching you _right now!_

God damnit, I've got a point! The next thing I know, I'm scouring every possible crook and cranny for red hats and graying beards. Where would a gnome hide? I already know they're in the air vents; are there any in here? OH SHIT THERE ARE! Oh god, oh god, oh god!! I accidentally clench my coffee cup a little too hard, and scald my hand when a little bit of liquid heaven spills over the top. You know, hot coffee is great to drink but I'd prefer it in my mouth rather than on my body. That's what coffee _beans_ are good for.

Where else? I know there's that fat receptionist with the ridiculously low cut shirt sitting in the main desk in the front lobby! Would they hide in her…? No, no look at those things! They're more terrifying than infomercial salesmen…dear lord is that…oh god, _it is!_ No way, no _way! _Even underpants gnomes have _some _decency!

I sigh and settle back in my uncomfortable plastic seat. Oh dude, this can't be good for my nerves. I've heard that overstressing can take _years _off your life! My entire LIFE is about overstressing!! I'm probably not even gonna make it to my 20's at this rate!! I'll never get out of this god forsaken town! I'll get stuck in community college or god, work at a department store and make minimum wage! I'll die a lonely virgin! Buy scented candles in my spare time! I'll--!

No. No, I won't die a lonely virgin and I WON'T buy scented candles in my spare time. .I wouldn't let myself slip up like that. I just…need to calm down….or at least try to. Wait…now how the hell do I do that?!

Maybe I should just try to think positively. Yeah…just…think positively. I probably look like I have my finger stuck in a power outlet but I can't help it. THERE ARE GNOMES TRACKING ME!! And now, they're targeting everyone else too! On one hand, this is pretty awesome because then everyone will know I'm not (completely) crazy, but on the other hand, then they'll have to suffer too! Oh Christ, this isn't thinking positively is it?

Maybe if I just close my eyes it'll work. But then I realize I can't just close my eyes, because then that could give the gnomes a chance to steal my underwear if they haven't already (I refuse to check). I give up. Okay just…just think about something else….think about something else…

I wonder what Craig's thinking right now.

I didn't notice it before, but the silence between us is incredibly awkward, me nursing the paper cup filled with the school's instant coffee like it's a bomb ready to explode and shower me with scalding hot coffee (with my luck it probably is and will), and Craig glaring at his beat up sneakers and rubbing his bright red knuckles. I think he's angry at me, but I wouldn't blame him for it. I make myself angry all the time.

"Sorry Craig," I murmur more to the cup than Craig himself and out of the corner of my eye I see him tilt his head to me and sigh warily.

"Shut up Tweek," he mutters, and I nod glumly. So much for a perfect day. Now it's ruined! My special birthday coffee is dripping from a dirty mop, I have to listen to Mr. Mackey's verbal abuse of 'm-kays', and now my best friend is mad at me. Looks like when you're the unluckiest person in the world, you aren't allowed to hope for things either.

"Tweek will you quit talking to yourself? And relax I'm not pissed at you okay?" GAH!! Craig's voice is sudden and way too loud and my nerves are so strung out that the second they're uttered I jump in my seat and spill my fiery lava hot coffee all over me.

"OW, OW, OW, OW, OW, OW!" I fly to my feet in record timing. SHIT, SHIT, SHIT, SHIT, SHIT!! My thighs and my crotch are on _fire_! What was that thing Big Gay Al said about being on fire? Oh yeah! He said that when you're on fire you can stop, drop, and roll to put it out but if you're in a position where you can't, you can compromise and try to put it out by repeatedly slapping at it. (It's supposed to help snuff out a fire or something) He also said something about using your feet rather than your hands but that's physically impossible in my case so instead I just slap at my burning lap like a madman.

"God dammit Tweek, are you okay?! And for the love of God, quit slapping yourself!" Craig's immediately by my side and is trying to stop my flailing hands in an attempt to calm me down but my hands don't stop and I end up smacking him right in the nose. OH GOD NOW I'M DEAD!

"Awwwww shit my nose! Tweek you fucking MORON!" His hands fly to his injured nose and he stumbles backwards knocking into the chairs. My natural instincts kick in and I quit slapping at myself just in time to dive for him so fast I barely see the glimpse of horror that flickers across his face.

"Oh shit! I'm -GAH- s-sorry Craig! Is your n-nose okay? It isn't b-bleeding is it?? Oh man, I didn't b-break it again did I?! SHIT I DID, DIDN'T I?! Argh, stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid!" I'm such an idiot! I could've shoved his nose right into his brain and then he'd die or slip into a coma and then he'd _really _hate me! Why can't I ever do anything right? Why do I always have to ruin everything?! I reach for him, ready to drag him all the way to the emergency room in Hells Pass Hospital, but he shoos me away with one of his hands, keeping the other firmly planted on his nose.

"TWEEK," Craig yells and I shut up immediately. I'm so fucking dead. "CHILL THE FUCK OUT!" He's staring at me exasperatedly and his face is flushed from yelling. Oh no…this isn't fair! Why? Why does this stuff always have to happen to me? Why can't things just go my way for once? Why?

"S-sorry…" This is hopeless. I'm hopeless. If I wasn't such a chicken and terrified of grave robbers, zombies, maggots and death in general, I'd say I should just die. It'd definitely make everyone's lives a lot easier. But since I'm too afraid to die, well, I guess they'll just have to forgive me.

Craig looks me over some before saying, "Here, lemme get you some napkins or something. You got coffee all over yourself, you klutz." He pulls out some tissues from his pockets and hands me them, sighing again as I dab at the giant wet spot right between my legs. It stings a little, but it could have been worse, and believe me, I have experienced 'worse.' The bigger problem now is that it looks like I peed my pants again, and I doubt anyone's up for sniffing my crotch to verify whether it's coffee or the latter. Well, maybe Butters or Pip but…

Oh fuck it. I let out a quivery sigh and bury my face in my thin hands. I take it back--_this _sucks. Craig nudges me and asks me if I'm okay again but I don't move my hands. Only when he smacks me upside the head do I let my palms slide down my face and glare blearily at him, my bottom eyelid twitching wildly for dramatic effect.

Craig glares back and gives me a half hearted finger before returning his gaze back to his sneakers. Why does he keep staring at his sneakers for God's sake? What's so interesting about them? Why not stare at the motivational poster with a bunch of quotes from Arnold Schwarzenegger and Mel Gibson or at that leaky spot on the ceiling that keeps dripping water on the other side of the hall? Instead he keeps staring at his stupid shoes with stupid Red Racer on them until stupid Mr. Mackey open's his stupid door and asks me to step into his stupid office. Gah this is so STUPID!

No, wrongly said_; I'm _just stupid.

"N-now Tweek, I understand you were screaming in the cafeteria again, and I j-just wanted to tell you that that was bad, m'kay? I mean, r-really, really bad, m'kay?" Mr. Mackey address to me as I sit down in the blue seat in front of his desk. This school must really like blue because most of the chairs here are blue. Craig likes blue a lot too. Blue eyes, blue clothes, blue bedroom and yet his favorite thing in the world is Red Racer. Oh, the irony.

"Y-yes Mr. Mackey I -GAH- know," I answer, bowing my head in shame. My fingers nestle in my hair and start pulling and tugging the ragged blond spikes out of habit. Yet _another_ one of my nervous habits. Let's just get this over with. I want to get back to class so I can go home and hide under my covers. I'd hide under my bed but if there are gnomes in the air vents, god knows what's under _there. _

"Good, now you wanna tell me why you were a-screamin'?" He clasps and unclasps his hands together and looks over his glasses down at me.

"-ngh- Eric t-told me something that -GAH- scared me," I answer shakily. Mr. Mackey m'kays again and asks me if I wanted to tell him what he told me. I shake my head furiously. He wouldn't believe me even if I _did _manage to tell him without scaring myself shitless.

"O-okay Tweek. Now d-don't get into anymore trouble m'kay?" He tells me, picking up a pink Post-it note and scribbling something down on it, probably for Mr. Garrison.

"Alright Mr. M-Mackey"

"Will you go on and send Craig in for me m'kay?"

I walk out the door and stop only to tell Craig that Mr. Mackey wants to talk to him. He fixes me with a funny look but right now I'm focused on getting back to class without getting attacked by freakin' gnomes because now that I'm not next to Craig (he gets angry at me when I start spazzing) gnomes are all I can think about.

I can't believe it. Oh god, I can't believe it. Why am I right? And _now_ of all times? The one time where I wish I was wrong, but I'm _not. _'God you must have one seriously messed up sense of humor,' is something I would consider muttering if I wasn't an avid believer in the possibility of being randomly struck by lightning or sucker punched by a big, fat, angry Christian vigilante wearing a 'Jesus Rox My Sox' shirt for bad mouthing God himself.

As I draw nearer and nearer towards the classroom door, a small flicker of apprehension starts to grow and go all psycho Mecha-Streisand-destroys-Tokyo in the pit of my stomach until I feel like I'm gonna puke.

Aww dude, I think I'm gonna be sick! I'm right in front of the door but I don't want to go in. I'll probably throw up on myself and everyone will laugh at me again! But I don't have a choice. My stupid backpack is in there! I don't want to risk a lecture from the teacher either. He'll turn me into a turducken or a pot roast and serve me on a bed of mashed potatoes with steamed broccoli and serve me to a bunch of politicians or worse; fitness instructors! Dear god, I can't do that, I don't have the stamina to handle something of that caliber!

My fingers lock around the doorknob so tightly they go numb and my knees are knocking together like some wussy pussy and my heart's th-thump-ing loudly in my chest. Gah! I can't do this! There's no way I can go in there! Not with those fucking _gnomes _hiding in the air vents, watching my every move_, spying _on me… no, they aren't just spying anymore are they? Those pint-sized bearded psychopaths are following me, and now, now I've doomed the rest of the school! Jesus! I mean I always knew it was just a certain amount of time until the gnomes began targeting other victims than me. But to do it in public…and in an elementary school at that? That's… that's just _sick!_

I can hear Mr. Garrison yelling for 'all you little assholes to shut up and pay attention' and a symphony of aggravated groans emit from the class through the metal door. I'll just have to trick myself won't I? Okay I'll just count to ten.

One…two….TEN!

My fingers sharply twist the door knob and I force the door open a little too sharply. Everyone's heads immediately turn towards me and they immediately start whispering to each other. I try my best to ignore them as I walk in but fail miserably, because even _Mr. Garrison _is whispering 'mmhms' and 'Mr. Hat!'s to that freaky hand puppet. I hastily throw the note from Mr. Mackey at him, but because I'm Tweek Tweak and not Stan or Kyle or fuck, _Butters, _instead of landing on his desk like I had planned, it decides to halt mid air and gently float down and land gracefully at my feet.

GOD DAMMIT!!

I scowl at the stupid hot pink note and wait patiently for it to sprout wings and flap its way over to Mr. Garrison, and when it doesn't, I just look like an idiot standing in the middle of the classroom, glaring at a sticky note.

Sometimes I really, really, _really_ hate my life.

I can hear the snickers coming from the class as I finally lean down to pick it up. I can already feel that embarrassed-as-Hell flush burning bright red on my cheeks as I shove it in Mr. Garrison's pervy hands and scamper towards my desk. The second my ass is in that seat, the better.

Mr. Garrison scans the note quickly over his wire rimmed glasses and turns this weird shade of puce before dismissing my tardiness and turning back to the board. Of course, he's still breaking out into incredibly eerie giggles at random moments. Other than that, class goes by pretty quickly. Craig comes in 7 minutes after my embarrassing entry and we don't talk though I do catch him staring at me oddly a few times. But the rest of the day goes by gnome free. Thank god!!

As the last bell rings, I gather my things and shove them hastily into my backpack ready to run for my life, but not before I feel a tap on my shoulder. I swear to god, if it's a gnome I'm going to scream. I really will. I frantically wiggle my arms through the straps and whip around expecting to see one of those vile creatures, and I do, except this one's more than two feet tall and a total fatass.

"Cartman?"

"Tweek, Tweek! We need to talk!" He grabs my shoulders and shakes me, his eyes wide and chock full of grade-A fear.

SHIT!

Oh come on God, can't I have just one break? Just one itsy bitsy, teenie weenie yellow polka dot bikini break? (wait a minute…) I just wanna go home, drink some coffee and take some Excedrin. It feels like my brain is being fed through a _paper shredder!_ Is that even _normal? _Oh god, what if it's brain cancer?! NO! I CAN'T GET THAT! MY FRAGILE MIND CAN'T TAKE IT!…Oh god, look at me. I really am a spazz basket. I'm such an idiot! I just need to chill the fuck out, like Craig always says. I just need to focus. That's easy enough right? I hope so. With a jittery shudder, I force my mind back onto the scene in front of me.

Cartman lets go of me and starts pacing up and down the aisle and wringing his pudgy hands together like he's going into cardiac arrest. He's even talking to himself again, and he keeps looking up at me, then back down at the floor, then up at the air vents, and then back at me again like he's trying to piece something together. I have no idea what he could be trying to piece together but it can't be good. It's the fatass for Christ's sake! When is anything involving him ever good?

If you were wondering the reasoning for my loving pet names for said fatass, I can tell you that I do it because I don't like Cartman. At. All. He's an insensitive, self involved douche bag with a fucked up sense of humor, and not only that, he's fucking psycho! Like this one time, he got pissed off at this one guy and he totally killed his parents and turned them into CHILI! And then he FED it to the kid! The fatass scares the SHIT out of me, seriously! That's another reason why I want out of here. Alone in an empty classroom with Cartman? Not over my dead body. Oh crap, maybe that was a wrong choice of wording...

"Tweek… Tweek, I need you to listen to me now. I...I need your help." Cartman suddenly speaks up and looks at me with this look in his eyes. Shit, I know that look! It's _the _look, the look he always gets when he's scheming something, that distant and conniving glint sharp in his dodgy brown eyes. I don't trust him at all and I have good reason for it: if a human being were to know anything, anything at all, they would know that a scheming Cartman is the _definition _of total devastation. Jesus, what could he possibly want with _me? _And what's with this help thing? Is he crazy? I'm the farthest thing_ from_ helpful!

"W-what?! What for?!"

"Because Tweek! Because! Just...listen for a second damn it! I….I know who it was that took my…underpants away from me."

"W-who?" Oh god I don't like where this is going, not one bit. Please don't say what I think you're gonna say! I don't wanna be right! I can't be right! I'm never right! Please, please, _please_ let me be wrong! I don't care if I know I'm right; just let me go on my merry way neck deep in denial!

"Tweek… Tweek, it was those damn gnomes! I…I know it!" He has his back towards me but I can practically see the look of total shock on his face.

Oh...my...god.

"WHAT?! G-G-G-G-GNOMES?? AS IN 'UNDERPANTS GNOMES?!'" No way, no way! He can't be serious! He's just… screwing with my head! I CAN'T BE RIGHT! I'm always wrong right?! RIGHT?! Oh god I think I'm gonna EXPLODE!!

"The very same. Tweek I… I need your help." His eyes are wide open and he's shaking his head back and forth almost like _he's_ in denial, but that doesn't matter. Why? Because that means I REALLY _AM _FUCKING RIGHT!! THERE _ARE_ GNOMES AT THIS SCHOOL!! Oh my….oh my god….w-what do I do? What do I do?! I gotta get the Hell out of here! It's not safe! I...I gotta get home! My parents...they aren't safe!

"W-What?! Why me?!" I screech and try to dodge around him. I almost make it to the door but he quickly cuts in front of me spreading his big, blubbery arms out to block the door way. He looks like a bloated version of Jesus ready to purge me of my sins with his 'Jews aren't really people' spew.

"Because Tweek, because. You know more about these… these_ things _than I do. I never thought I'd say it and I still don't, but Tweek… I need you." Cartman says and plants his hands on each of my skinny shoulders for dramatic effect. Oh god, he's _touching _me!

"Need him for what?" A familiar voice cuts in from behind us. Cartman spins around in slow-mo due to his excess extra baggage. I can see that blue hat with the yellow poof ball over Eric's mountain of a shoulder and relief soaks through me faster than Berry Blue Kool-Aid and a stack of vintage porn.

Thank god! It's Craig! Surely Craig will save me! Thank you God! Thank you!

"Go away Craig. This doesn't concern you," Eric says in a clipped voice and waves him off… like Craig will actually listen and do as he says.

"Whatever fatass." As expected, Craig flips him off with a firm glare and turns to me, his expression softening to an amused smirk. "Hey Tweek, you said the party was at eight right?" He's talking about my birthday party tonight. It's a sleepover too since it's a Friday. I nod my head in total horror and he says "Okay, thanks dude. I'll be going now. Cartman, do me a favor and don't rape him. I mean I know you need him oh so desperately but please, do think of the after math of a post violated Tweek. That would be catastrophic and I'd have to kick your tubby ass for doing it. See ya Tweek!" Craig gives us a little wink, and then leaves like nothing happened.

Typical Craig. I can feel my jaw hanging open already. But come on, _rape?! _Surely Cartman wouldn't… well he does always want Kyle to suck his balls… but that couldn't mean he'd…. oh my god… OH MY GOD! I think I just threw up a little bit...

Cartman is sputtering and screaming, :AY GET BACK HERE YOU FUCKIN' HIPPIE!", all the while blushing in relentless fury at the implied innuendo of our situation. Oh God. I really think I threw up.

It's funny that I could actually forget that Craig is an insensitive douche bag too. Of course he wouldn't want to help me. He hates me! He'd probably _want _me to get raped by the fatass. How exactly did I forget that about Craig again? Oh yeah, _I'M FUCKING DESPERATE! _

"Just you wait Craig, just you fuckin wait! I'll get you back! I swear it Craig! I swear it on the stars!" Cartman grumbles to himself, glowering at the open doorway like it just stole his syrupy stack of fried joy that is a flapjack right from under his piggy nose. And oh what contempt a fatass such as Eric T. Cartman has for a pancake snatcher. I'd send my condolences to the unoffending doorway but the fact is that that cocksucker-dickshit-fatass-son-of-a-_bitch_ completely forgot about me! I can't believe this! I gotta get _home _dammit and he's totally wasting my precious time before the gnomes start crawling out from the darkness like the roaches they are!

"Cartman?" I question from a safe distance, mainly because I don't want him to wring my neck for stealing his imaginary pancakes. If I'm gonna be stuck here with him, I've gotta make this quick. I'm starting to see things again and I am NOT jumping out the window like last time. That hurt really bad and I don't feel like going to the hospital again. That old man wouldn't shut up about his doodle not working anymore for weeks I tell you! Weeks!

Cartman looks up at me confused and a little pissed that I'm talking to him. I almost regret saying anything when he finally snaps out of it and says, "Huh? Oh yeah, right! C'mon twitchy, we're going to mah house. We have many things to talk about… many, many things."

Wait, WHAT?! I said _my house _not _his_!! You know what? Fine. Screw the stray bolts of electrified death and big fat angry Christians I'm gonna say it: God you must either really hate me or you have one messed _up _sense of humor. Cartman snatches me by the wrist and drags me through the doorway and down the hallway like I'm a giant sack of aborted fetuses. Dude this is bad! I can't do _anything _and no matter how much I don't want to go with him, and god how I don't want to, I _have_ to! Just look at him! He's MASSIVE! He could snap me in half with one hand tied behind his back! He could probably do it without any hands at all! All he'd have to do is sit his huge tanker of an ass on me and I'd be as good as gone! Damn it, I should have just kept my stupid mouth shut.

See? I told you! Nothing good ever comes from me speaking up! Nothing! I ruin everything, for me and everyone else! I wish I was born without a mouth.

Seeing as I obviously can't retaliate and tell him to shove it where the sun don't shine, what do I do? I'll tell you what I do: I choose the easy (and more painful in my case) way out. In other words, I shut up, swallow my pride and follow the lard ass.

Sometimes, I really think that God is out to get me. With my luck, he is.

**To Be Continued...**

* * *

**End Note:**

**Next update should be...well, soon. I already have the next chapter written mainly because this chapter was originally WAY too long and I had to split it in half. So yeah, I'll prolly update in a week I guess. Again what DO you think? Good? Bad? Terrible? Or possibly the most amazingly awesome thing you've ever read or perhaps ridiculously epic and an absolute refreshment to the mind's pallette? Haha, whatever just throw me a review or anything for that matter. I love readers but reviewers I respect. Especially when they're so speechless by the sheer greatness of my work and still find ways to put it into words. Jk, Jk, but seriously, REVIEW! Or else...I won't update as fast...And we wouldn't want that would we, hm?**

**-uncmeister**


	3. A Proposal of Horrific Proportions

**AN: Err I'm just gonna post this before the weather turns for the worst. Dontcha just love hurricane days? I do. Especially when it's literally the first week of school lol. So, this is chapter 3! I warn you now this has alot of fatass being a fatass but...Cartman's just too fun to write lol. So. Enjoy and stuff wont you?**

**-uncmeister**

* * *

**Phase 3: A Proposal of Monumentally Horrific Proportions**

The trip to Cartman's house isn't too long and it isn't too painful either. Cartman's quiet and so am I, the only sound between us being the crunching of snow beneath our shoes and the occasional 'GAHS' and 'OH GOD's and 'AHHH's from who else but me.

It's disgustingly cold outside and the sharp wind nips at my face relentlessly. I can safely say I no longer have feeling of my nose. I hope it doesn't fall off because I've read about people getting frost bite and their toes and noses falling right off! Holy Jesus, what if it already fell off?! I wouldn't know since I can't really feel it to begin with. WAIT! What do I do if it did?! I NEED THAT! If I lost my nose now, how would I be able to sniff for poison or tell if the creamer had expired? Oh God, what would I do if I was abducted by aliens and had to identify the scent of a scratch and sniff sticker to save the planet?! We'd all die I tell you! DIE!

My hands frantically flutter to my face and I can't help but sigh in relief when I realize that yes, my nose is indeed intact. The world is safe again once more.

I shiver miserably and rub my hands over my arms trying to bring some of that blessed warmth back to my numb limbs, but I'm twitching too much to really do a good job of it. Ugh, I hate the cold, and it's probably because I never have a jacket on. Damn you, eternal winter of South Park, Colorado and your frigid temperatures. My typical twitching goes up a notch into something more 'seizure-esque' as I walk out here and that makes sense when you consider I'm running around in only my green button up cardigan and thin jeans. Cartman's lucky. He has a thick layer of blubber and gravy to insulate him. Me? I'm embarrassingly skinny without an ounce fat to speak of. Whether it's a blessing or not, I may never know.

"Ay! Will you hurry your skinny ass up Twitchy?!" Cartman barks from ahead, and I follow his orders promptly. I wish I had more confidence, really I do, because then maybe I'd kick him in the sack and make a run for it. Sorry, no such miracles for me today. I'm still a pansy and I quicken my pace. Wait a minute, how the Hell is the _fatass _going faster than me? Oh yeah, maybe it's because I'm shaking so hard I can barely take a step without tripping over myself. That can be a bit of a draw back if I do say so myself.

Children run past us on the sidewalk and people in cars give us passing glances. I know what they're all thinking: 'Hey, lookie there! It's that freaky spaz that twitches a lot and screams at random intervals of speech! Lets stare at him and make him feel totally awkward and socially screwed over because we're total dicks!'

I only know this because I've heard the exact same words escape the lips of over 76 passersby, sometimes with minor changes in grammar; i.e. instead of 'dicks' it may or may not be asswipes, ass fucks, douche bags, bastards, ass masters, dickwads; etcetera, etcetera. But it all means the same thing – even I'm not dumb enough to not know that.

Finally, the Cartman household appears on the horizon and as we tread on, it keeps coming closer and closer until bam! We're there and stepping through the doorway, tracking snow and mud through a freshly mopped floor and straight to the kitchen where a particular Ms. Liane Cartman is standing in front of the oven.

"Why hello snookums, how was your day at school? Oh my, and who's your little friend?" Ms. Cartman greets us sweetly as we enter the warm kitchen. It feels like my face is melting from the heat but I accept it gratefully. I wonder what she's baking.

"Tweek," I say nervously. She's so… she's so nice! How could someone related to the _fatass_ be so...well, _not _a manipulative fatass son of a bitch? Or maybe it's more like, how could the _fatass_ be related to someone so _not _a manipulative fatass son of a bitch? Or maybe the kindness is all a facade and she's really as conniving and as big of an asshole as her son!

That could definitely be a possibility, but when she says, "It's nice to meet you Tweek. Would you boys care for a snickerdoodle? They'll be done in just a minute," I decide maybe she really is just nice.

Cartman doesn't seem to notice or even give a shit about this little fact. The minute he kicks off his muddy shoes and tosses his red coat and beanie in the general _direction _of the kitchen chair, he's already griping and carrying on like an oversized infant.

"But Moooooooooooomm I don't liiiiiikeeee snickerdooooodleeees," Cartman whines and stamps his feet on the kitchen floor. Ms. Cartman's smile quickly starts to dip into a frown and I decide that she's way too nice to have to deal with Cartman all the time, so I'll spare her this one.

"I like snickerdoodles!" I quickly intervene and at just the right time. Ms. Cartman's smile flickers back to life, and I feel very pleased on the inside. I did something nice, didn't I? Huh… I hope I like snickerdoodles. I've never had them before.

"That's wonderful! Now then, how 'bout mommy makes you some nice fresh brownies my little pudgy puddin' pie?" Ms. Cartman claps her hands together and while she's distracted with the timer for the snickerdoodles going off, Eric shoots me a if-you-say-one-word-about-this-I'll-fucking-kill-you-and-your-pet-hamster look and even though I don't own a pet hamster or any animals in general (After the goldfish incident of Preschool I was hereby banished from pet-ownership-hood. What? The fish came right at me! What was I supposed to do? Let it kill me? Didn't think so), I just can't argue with that look.

Why? 'Cause I'm a big fat chicken. Maybe not as fat as Cartman, but a chicken nonetheless. I don't really _feel _like risking a chance of being turned into chili or a turducken or anything other than my current state of being, thank you very much.

"Yes mommy that'd make me soooooo happy!" Cartman answers in this syrupy voice and rocks back and forth on his heels like some girl. He gives me chills. He turns away from her and his face quickly sinks back into his more natural pissed-as-fuck glare. "You. Me. My Room. NOW." He points to the stairs and crosses his thick arms across his chest for impact.

"But what about the -GAH- snickerdoodles?"

"Those are mine and I'm gonna eat them _all up _right in front of you if you don't shut up and follow me. We're here on business Tweek! Important business," Eric says pointedly but I don't move from my spot. I _want _those snickerdoodles and after a day like this, I deserve one dammit! My resolve doesn't last long though because let's face it, I'm a wimp.

"MOVE YOUR SPAZZY ASS RIGHT NOW O' I'LL SIT ON YOU!" Cartman roars and I squeak in terror. For the love of God, I'll go, I'll go!

We march up the stairs, me leading the way since I'm going three steps at a time. When we reach the landing, Cartman pushes past me and unceremoniously throws the door open, shoving me into his room in the process. He locks the door with a sharp 'click' behind him while I stare at the room of the town's most notorious and mentally disturbed nine year old.

Dude. I can't believe it. I'm in the fatass's evil lair! It's sorta… surreal. I look around wide eyed and stare at his things, searching for the decapitated dolls, the torture devices, the Hitler cut-out and the pile of corpses but all I find (thank god) is the Hitler cut out and an Antonio Banderas blow up doll.

Besides the blow up doll, his room is actually kind of… normal, or at least as normal as Cartman gets. Of course, then I glance in the corner of his room and gasp when I see a whole pile of pastel colored stuffed animals and dolls smiling eerily at me from a distance. Okay, so it still reeks of evil, but maybe if I'm good, I can get the Hell out of here quickly and maybe grab some of those snickerdoodles! If my perfect day is on a crash course to a gnome related oblivion as well as my sanity, I WILL at least have those god damn cookies.

Cartman sits, or more correctly, collapses on his swivel chair and laces his fingers together. He stares at me for a few minutes, waiting for me to look up at him. I don't take the hint because honestly, how is that chair still standing? He just threw himself on it and it didn't break! That's either one strong chair or one lucky fatass.

"Well, well, well Tweek. I'm very pleased to see you here. Please, take a seat." He points to a spot on his bed. "I believe we have many things to discuss Tweek," he begins and looks up at me sharply as I cautiously sit down on the mattress, his dark eyes glinting in the fluorescent light of his rocket ship lamp. "Many…many things." He murmurs, gazing at his short gnawed up nails nonchalantly.

Oh god. He is so planning something, I know it! I'm so screwed! Please don't sit on me, please, please, please, PLEASE! I don't want to be a vegetable like Kenny was! I don't like vegetables! Especially zucchini! WHAT TYPE OF NAME IS 'ZUCCHINI' ANYWAYS?! IS IT ITALIAN? SPANISH? CANADIAN? God, I hope it's not Canadian…Wait a minute! I'm getting totally off topic here!

Okay Tweek, breathe, just…breathe and for Christ's sake, forget about the zucchini!

B-but--

Can it. Remember, we want to make this quick. Just let him say what he needs to say and then you can have your snickerdoodles and go home, okay?

Okay…

"So, w-what do you want fatas-GAH! I-I MEAN CARTMAN?!" Holy Christmas! I almost called him fatass to his face! I'm such an idiot! Stupid, stupid, stupid! Now he's really gonna sit on me!

Cartman glares at me from his chair and says, "I'm going to pretend I didn't hear that Twitchy. If I killed you now, I don't think you'd be much of a help later."

Likewise. I'm going to pretend I didn't hear that last bit and continue. "Well?! What do you -ngh- want?!" I ask, though it's more like a shriek. Of course, I already know what he wants. He's _Cartman_. He wants information. Duh. He's only using me so he can find out more about the gnomes! But what's he gonna do when he learns? Go Hitler on them? Knowing Cartman I really wouldn't doubt it. He'd probably capture one and sodomize it over and over again with a banana until it cracked, then once he got what he wanted, post the pictures on MySpace for the world to see.

"As you may know… my underpants are gone." Cartman addresses to me in his business-y voice. I nod and fidget in my seat on his bed before he continues. "Tweek, listen to me. I _know_ it was those gnomes. I… I saw one at lunch. I went to the bathroom to take a piss and the second I unzipped my fly it was just… just there! Staring at me with it's beady little eyes! And then it… just clicked its little gnome fingers and BAM! My underpants… they were gone Tweek! GONE!"

Oh my--!! I fall off the bed but spring back to my feet in a matter of seconds. "OH GOD! THEY STOLE YOUR UNDERPANTS RIGHT OFF YOU?!"

"YES DAMMIT! Those god damn midgets stole my new 'Hitler Forever' boys briefs right offa me!" Cartman exclaims and throws his arms in the air, cursing the gods for ever creating underpants stealing gnomes. He also mentions Woodstock and all of its faggy hippies, but I don't pay attention to that.

"EWWW!! THAT'S JUST S-SICK! YOU MEAN YOU'VE BEEN GOING -GAH- C-COMMANDO ALL DAY?!" I know I'm screaming but I can't help it. That's just-- _dude! _

"GOD DAMMIT YES!"

"_OH SICK!" _Sick, sick, sick, sick, SICK! I'm gonna throw up, I'm gonna throw up! I'm not sure what's grosser: the fatass going commando or the gnomes stealing Cartman's underwear right off his bare butt.

"AY! SHUDDUP TWITCHY!"

"NO WAY DUDE! THAT'S JUST… AH JESUS!! THIS MEANS THAT T-THEY REALLY ARE FOLLOWING ME!!"

"YES DAMMIT, NOW RESPECT MAH AUTHORITAH AND SHUDDUP! THERE'S MORE!"

"OH GOD NOW WHAT?!" It can't possibly get worse can it?! Wait, I'm the unluckiest person in the world. That means things can get a lot worse! Shit!

"Look Tweek. LOOK!" Eric points me to his dresser and flings open one of the drawers. I'm guessing it's his underwear drawer….oh crap. This isn't gonna be good. I gulp and peek into it, expecting a gnome to lunge at me, but it's completely empty.

"It's… it's empty." Even I can hear the slight awe in my voice. I jam my head closer to the drawer and search everywhere for a pair of boxers or briefs but it really is completely empty. What does this… why would they… it can't be! It can't!

"EXACTLY! I have no underwear Tweek! None! What do I do? How can I live with myself without my underpants there to guide me?!" Eric grabs me by the shoulders and shakes me hysterically, but I can't feel anything right now. My head is foggy and my body feels like it's frozen. I'm completely numb except for the alarms pounding in my brain screaming to me that something has gone very, very, very wrong.

_Very, very _wrong.

"I-I can't believe it… This… this has never happened before! They've always been careful to only take a few -ngh- p-pairs at a time. There was a balance to it; there was a method to their madness… b-but all of it at once?! Oh god… oh GOD! W-Why is this happening?! Why now?! WHAT DO THEY WANT FROM ME?!" I'm shocked. I'm completely and utterly shocked. I knew the gnomes were despicable creatures but THIS…this is just….oh my god!

"I don't know but I _will _find out Tweek, I will. And when I find out, someone's gonna pay for this. And believe me Twitchy, they _will _pay", Cartman says darkly, a shadow creeping over his fat features. He lets go of my shoulders and let's me back away from him.

"What are you gonna -ngh- _do?" _I ask. What's he planning? A part of me really doesn't want to know about any of this, and yet at the same time another part of me wants to. Is that weird? I think it's weird. Is this even the time to be thinking about this type of stuff?

"Tweek, I believe the question is what are _we _going to do?" Cartman corrects me and waits for the words to sink in and by god do they.

No. NO WAY. He did not just say that! He did _not_ just fucking say that! "WE?! WHY WE?!" I scream, my eye twitching a mile a minute. No way am I working with that lard ass! He'll kill me! I know it! Wait, wouldn't he kill me if I didn't help him anyways?! DANG IT, HE WOULD!!

"Because Tweek, I know you know something is up, don't even try to lie about it. I saw you in class, screaming about gnomes in the air vents. Haha, oh god it was so totally awesome especially when you started crying and – hahahaha - hid underneath the desk! Oh man. I wish I coulda video taped it!" Cartman coughs a bit and smoothes his brown hair back.

"But, uh, yeah. Now I know that there really were gnomes in the vents and I want to know their motive for following _you _of all people and what that has to do with my missing underpants. I will figure this out Tweek. I _swear it_."

"B-but how are we gonna--?!"

"We're going to start a resistance, Tweek."

"A WHAT?!"

"Ay! Shuddup twitchy! Did I give you permission to talk? I think not," Cartman retorts quickly and turns to his bookshelf. It's full of volumes and volumes of scary books, including but not limited to: full Hitler autobiographies, Neo-Nazism for Dummies, How to run an Illegal Drug Ring, The Lord of the Rings and lastly, The Guerillas Guide for the Inept Rebel. He pulls the latter thick book off the shelf and swipes the dust off the cover with a wave of his hand. I cringe and back away from the little dust cloud forming in the air. I don't want any of his fatass Nazi dust in my lungs, no way. I might choke on a dust bunny or get exposed to asbestos and die!

Cartman grins in a conniving way down at the cover before carelessly hurdling it through the air and straight for my head. I shriek and dive out of the way just in time for it to collide with his night stand. The alarm clock never stood a chance.

"GOD DAMMIT TWITCHY! YOU WERE SUPPOSED TO CATCH IT!" Cartman yells at me and despite the situation, somehow I still have it in me to stare at him like he's completely insane.

"CATCH IT? ARE YOU CRAZY?! WHAT IF IT HIT ME IN THE HEAD AND SENT ME INTO A COMA?! I DON'T WANNA BE A VEGETABLE!"

What? It's a good point right? Cartman 'arghs' and shoves me out of the way in his epic journey across the bedroom to pick up his KO'd alarm clock/ radio from the floor. He plugs it back in to the respectable outlet and when the screen displays nothing, he bashes it a few times with his fist. He gives a little nod of triumph when the red numbers flicker back onto the screen as if saying 'Fine fatass, we'll work with you! Just don't hurt the children!' Then he turns to me.

"As I was saying. You and I are going to start a resistance, Tweek. It's only a matter of time until more people come out with missing underpants reports, and we need to be ready when that time arises." Cartman walks up to his window and folds his hands behind his back as he looks down at the bustling neighborhood below before continuing. "Look at all of those innocent people down there, playing, working, and laughing ever so happily; all of their underpants tucked safely away in their dressers, ready and waiting to be used; to be loved; to be cherished. If only they knew, like you and I know at this very moment, that there are other beings working against this reality. That evil lurks in the shadows of their bedside, waiting for the perfect moment to seize their fragile lives in the most agonizingly painful wedgie mankind has ever seen, and with one final rip, rob them of all their underpants… and their dignity." He turns to me and looks me over with his calculating brown eyes. I can't breathe, I can't breathe, I can't breathe!

"You know Tweek, that gnome in the bathroom said something to me. Do you want to know what he said?" Before I can scream "GOD NO" he continues. "He told me that this was just the beginning. That soon no human being or ginger kid alive (if the soul less are considered living) would have a single pair of underpants to call their own. Tweek, this is only going to get worse. I swear it, and as the first to know about this, it's only in the people's best interest that we act now before it's too late! Only you and I can do this Tweek, at least for now. I imagine as the world slowly comes to realize what's really going on here, there will be more people with the same idea as us… well, mostly me."

"Since when do you c-care about the peoples best interest?" I ask incredulously. Cartman places a hand over his heart and gasps in false offense. He didn't have to be so sarcastic. I was just asking.

"You sound just like that damn Jew! This is different Tweek, way different! Don't you get it?! Those gnomes stole my _underpants _Tweek, my _underpants! _I won't let this go Tweek! And I'll suck the Jew's _balls _before I let one of those underpants stealing son of a bitches roam around freely, because soon it won't just be my underpants, Tweek! It will be the entire world's!" Suck Kyle's balls? Oh god he's really serious about this! What do I do? I don't--! I can't--!

"B-but I… I can't just join a resistance! That's t-too much p-pressure! I'll ruin it!"

"Oh really? It's too much pressure? How sad, and such a shame too. I thought that maybe you weren't such a pussy Tweek. I thought maybe seeing your background with these gnomes, you'd want to help stop them. Fine then. Have it your way. But before you walk out that door let me ask you this: how would you feel, Tweek, if you knew that you could have helped save the world when you had the chance? Hmm? How would you feel when all of your little friends show up for school commando and ever so cold without the warmth of their underpants to soothe them? What about Craig, your best friend? How would you feel if you let HIS underpants be lost to those sick panty raiding midgets from Hell? It'd be all your fault Tweek. _All your fault_. Now then, ask _yourself_ this: Could you live with that type of guilt? The pressure of knowing that all of their anguish is because _you_ were a pussy and were too scared to save them and their underpants in their time of need? Could you live with yourself_? _Well? Answer me Tweek. Answer me." Cartman crosses his arms expectantly waiting for my answer, but… I… I can't answer him and he knows it.

"C-Cartman d-do you really think that could -ngh- h-h-happen?" I squeak out instead. I'm clutching the loose fabric of my shirt so tightly it's starting to rip and I can feel the tremors and shudders clambering through my body like a hobo with a frying pan shimmying up a fire escape.

Oh God, what if he's right? I mean he _could _be right. Isn't this what I've been thinking all along? I'd never be able to live with the guilt if I didn't do anything! That's… that's like the most pressure ever! I can't even handle a little pressure! I couldn't do that to my family, to the rest of the world, to Craig! I'd be worse than George Dubbaya Bush or Mr. Garrison or god, Mel Gibson! But… could we really do this? Could_ I_ do this? This...this resistance thing? If what he's saying is true and it does get worse, we could do something to stop it. Maybe we could even - oh for the love of - what the Hell am I thinking?! I can't trust Cartman! He's… he's _Cartman! _He's never cared about the state of the world and when he 'did,' it was only for some ridiculous ulterior motive of his! He's a manipulative, backstabbing, lying son of bitch who only cares for himself! And yet… he has a point. But he's the fatass! But, what if he's being serious this time? He said he'd suck Kyle's _balls_ before he letsthe gnomes go freely! He _can't _be fucking around! What do I do, what do I do?! I can't tell if he's lying or not! Oh god, t-too much pressure!!

"No Tweek, I don't believe it could happen in the future. It already _is _happening. Can't you see it? Those gnomes were following you for a reason Tweek! They know about you, and they know you know the most about them and their ways! Those gnomes recognize you as a_ threat, _Tweek, a big, unsightly, over-caffeinated threat! You know too much and now they have to get you out of the picture to continue their unspeakable plans! _They could be plotting to assassinate you as we speak!!" _

"Oh GOD! Are you _serious?! _Are they really gonna k-kill m-m-me?" Somehow I've managed to grab Cartman by the collar, though when I did so I don't really remember, and I'm shaking him back and forth with all my jittery strength. Please don't say yes, please for the love of Harbucks don't say yes!

"Yes dammit! Now get offa me!" He said yes. He said yes. I think I'm gonna faint…

My hands slip from his shirt collar and I just know my eyes are as wide as plates when he shoves me away from him. I have horrible balance and land with a thud on his floor. My head hurts, my butt hurts, my tongue still feels like rubber from that stupid cheap coffee, and I feel dizzy and sick. My eyes start to sting and that stupid lump starts to form in the back of my throat. Oh god… oh god, no, please! I can't! Not in front of Cartman! I just can't but I don't--

And just like that, I'm bawling right in front of the fatass. Cartman gapes at me before bursting out into laughter.

"Wah, wah, wah look at the babyyy! Here lemme lick your tears away; oh how they sustain me," The fatass coos wickedly, but I only half hear him. Oh god. I can't handle this, I can't! It's way too much pressure! I don't wanna die! I don't! Especially not by some midget with four inches of unnecessary growth protruding from his chin and a hat the size of his body! I curl up into a tight ball on myself and sob and twitch on Eric Cartman's carpet. I'm never gonna live this down, am I?

"Tweek? Ay, Tweek! Quit crying you pussy! Ay I said--God dammit shut UP!!" Cartman's voice echoes down at me but I only sob harder. I'm gonna die, I'm gonna die, I'm gonna die and I didn't get my snickerdoodles or my birthday cake and Craig didn't believe me and god hates me and gnomes are tracking me down and I'm stuck at the fatass's house crying my lungs out and I want to stop but I can't because it's too much pressure!!

"TOO M-MUCH PRESSURE!!" I wail and Cartman smacks a hand against his forehead just in time for Ms. Cartman to open the door, holding a platter of fresh brownies and snickerdoodles.

"Boys, I brought you those treats I promised! Oh dear! What happened?" Ms. Cartman's sugary voice flips a switch in the back of my mind and I sit up quickly. Earth to Tweek calm the fuck down! I stop crying like a pussy and rub at my puffy eyes frantically with my sleeve. Oh god, please tell me I wasn't crying in front of the fatass!

You were crying in front of the fatass.

You really hate me don't you?

That I do.

God dammit, I really hate my conscience…

I'm not your fucking conscience.

You're not?

Naw, I'm Jiminy fuckin' Cricket. I'm you damn it! Now quit talking to yourself and pay attention!

Wait isn't that just an extension of--

PAY ATTENTION!

"Oh my, what on earth's the matter sweetie?" Cartman's mom briskly walks in and kneels down in front of me. Ah Jesus, this is so embarrassing!

"T-the g-gnomes a-and the m-missing u-underpants and, and they're t-tracking m-me and the r-r-resistance and I don't wanna dieeee!!" I start out sniffling and by the end of it I'm wailing all over again. She frowns and kindly rubs my back in small circles. I don't care if she's a dirty crack whore who lets German dudes shit on her. She's still really, really nice.

"There, there dear. Here how about a nice snickerdoodle to stop those silly tears?" She smiles down at me and hands me a few of the warm cinnamon-y sugary cookies.

"O-okay!" I nod furiously and nibble at the cookies. These… these cookies… they're magnificent! This whore lady sure can snicker a doodle! Cookie wise and sexually! And just like that, I forget about the gnomes and underpants and fatasses and the only thing that occupies my mind is 'wow these are so freakin awesome I gotta tell Craig about

them!'

"T-thank you," I mumble over the mouthful of warm cinnamon-y sugary goodness that is a snickerdoodle. I have to admit, if I had a mom like Cartman's, I'd probably be a fatass too. Good cooking like that is hard to come by; I'd probably want to take advantage of it too.

"Any time sugar plum" Ms. Cartman smiles and pats my head, then looks up towards Cartman who's been watching us silently. "How about you snookums? Would you like some extra fresh brownies?"

Oh yeah the fatass! I almost forgot all about him. I glance up and rub at my puffy red eyes. Cartman looks a little relieved that she got me to calm down, but I wouldn't put it past him to be pissed because I did get to eat my cookies after all.

"Gimme em," Cartman orders before snatching the whole platter away and sitting down with it. He glares at his mom when she doesn't leave and whines, "Moooooooooom! Me and Tweek are having a serious conversatiooooon! Go awaaaaaaaay!!"

"Oh, but pummy cake--"

"Mooooooom, GO AWAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAY!!" He squeals and kicks his stubby feet against the bed frame and smacks the bedding like a toddler. And he called _me _a pussy! Fuckin' fatass hypocrite...

"If you say so honey. Enjoy the snacks boys!" Mrs. Cartman says over her shoulder as she makes her way out of the room of one demented little boy. If only I could leave too.

"Well, do we have a deal Twitchy?" Cartman asks raising his hand for a shake. "Choose your answer wisely if you want to live," he adds when I hesitate, with a swipe across what could be called his neck if not for the double chins. What choice do I have? I _have_ to work with Cartman. God knows what he could do to me and besides…what could it hurt? Shit, that's a stupid thing to say because anything involving Eric Theodore Cartman is definitely bad and probably _will _hurt, but I have to think positively or else I'll have another break down again! I got lucky that he didn't have a camera on him this time but next time I might not be so lucky. Maybe I really could save the world like Cartman's implying! That'd be kinda awesome… I think. Maybe then people wouldn't be such total assfucks to me!

"Fine, we have a -ngh- deal," I mutter, more to my half eaten cookie than to him. Even though I'm not looking at him directly I can tell that he's got a smug look on his fat face. I just hope I've made the right decision.

"That's what I thought. Now all we need is time, patience, those Fruit of the Loom guys and Craig Tucker."

"Y-yeah, okay--WAIT WHAT?!"

I think I'm starting to get a bad feeling about this...

**To Be Continued...**

* * *

**End Note:**

**Oh my, that was quite a heaping helping of fatass wasn't it? He's so conniving, my god what shall I do with him? Feed him cupcakes, that should shut him up right? Yeah I think so. (yawn) Well then, I'll see ya next update. OH and before I go, lemme just say that reviews are nice. Pfft, screw nice, reviews are**_** gold.**_** Reviews make Brittany a **_**very **_**happy girl and may or may not inspire her to update quicker. Just...keep that in mind. Shoot, I hope people actually like this haha.**

**-uncmeister**


	4. The Worst Best Friend Ever

**An: Ah, finally chapter 4! This chapter would just not yield to my every demand. But hopefully all of my toil and trouble worked out in the end. Hopefully. Nah, I think it did lol. So, to those who could possibly be reading this failed story and liking it, enjoy! Oh and thanks to KC for the betaing job :D You are FABULOUS darling lol**

**-uncmeister**

* * *

**Phase 4: The Worst Best Friend Ever**

**Craig**

I don't know what the hell that buttwipe said to Tweek but it's pissing me off.

Seriously, Tweek's being way more Tweekish than usual and he's been that way since lunch, since _Cartman _showed up.

It was lunchtime when it happened. Clyde, Token, and I were discussing whether or not ostriches could get horny (I know dogs do, especially chihuahuas and Stan's gay dog Sparky but what about penguins, or seals or scorpions or ducks? Dude, that'd be so awesome) when Tweek screams and starts vaulting lunch tables. All three of us as well as everyone else in the cafeteria yelped and shot up out of our seats. You have no IDEA how Hollywood perfect his screams are. Once I even told him that he'd be perfect for a horror movie with some deranged bodybuilder lumberjack chasing him around with a hack saw but from the way he freaked out, I decided that maybe he wouldn't do as great a job as I'd thought.

But anyways, this scream was...._different_. It wasn't louder...and it wasn't shriller than usual either. Actually I think it was his expression; it didn't look like _just _a case of bad nerves, but more like whatever was said really,_ really_ scared him. Like really, really,_ really_ scared him.

So, with that said, why am I stuck sitting here next to him outside of Mr. Mackey's office too?

I'll tell you why. Because I had gone against my better judgement (again) and decided that since I wasn't fond of the expression on him I would go ahead and punch Cartman right in the face for retribution. It didn't hurt much since fatty has 2 layers of shock absorber in each cheek and 3 under his chin, and it was really awesome because Cartman started crying. Well, it was awesome until I had a teacher yanking me by the ear down the hall to the stupid counsellors office. Incidentally, a couple teachers were taking lunch at the table next to us and when they jumped on the scene, I 'accidentally' flipped them off too.

And now, here we sit and wait outside of Mr. Mackey's office to await the verbal assault of 'Mmkay's and 'hitting is bad's that only Mr. Mackey can dish up; Tweek here for screaming bloody murder and me for punching Cartman and giving The Man the Almighty Finger.

Frankly, I'm pissed off at Tweek as much as The Man is. It's technically his fault we're stuck here wasting away into puddles of gravy outside of the office. Yet, I feel worried about him too. How gay is that? Very gay, which is another reason to be pissed off at him.

He's sitting on the edge of his blue chair outside of Mr. Mackey's office like he could fly off it at any second, and he keeps wringing his hands over and over and OVER again. He's around maybe his 9th cup of coffee within the hour. And what's worse is the way his eyes are darting everywhere, searching every shadow and every face.

Christ, I bet it's those God damn gnomes again. You know what he told me earlier before lunch? He told me that gnomes were tracking him through the air vents and that they were going to kill him and take his boxers right from out of his pants.

Yeah. I know.

Underpants stealing _gnomes._

Why I hang out with him I honestly don't know, and I may never know. I just do. It's probably because we grew up together. My mom and his mom were all buddy-buddy in college and of course when they started popping out babies, they decided it would be 'too cute' to set us up for friendship to 'continue their legacy' or something like that. Even after these long nine years, I doubt we're really good friends though. I'm not necessarily the best person in the world, in fact, I'm a down right dick. If anything, I wouldn't be surprised if he secretly hated me. But I swear to God if he hates me, I'd better be getting some sort of humanitarian award for putting up with him and his crap or else I'm gonna be pissed, like super pissed. Like Damien, son of Satan, pissed.

Dammit, and now he's talking to himself! I can't really tell what he's saying because he's talking a mile a minute and when I glance over all I can really see is his thin mouth forming jittery words while his eyes inspect every surface in the hallway. If he's searching for gnomes I'm going to kill him. I really will. He's _always_ screaming about gnomes and leprechauns and how they really do exist and you'd _think_that after years of 'uh huh right's and 'of course Tweek, of course' he'd just drop it. Gnomes don't exist. Leprechauns just happen to, Cartman proved that himself, but gnomes that steal underwear? Come on.

But did he drop it? No.

"S-sorry Craig," He murmurs pathetically. I sigh and turn to look at him because I honestly can't take any more of this bull crap.

Oh god. It's worse than I thought. Tweek looks like he just got struck by lightning with his crazy blond hair sticking every which way, not to mention his wide and incredibly blue eyes. I'm crazy jealous of his eyes even though they're usually twitchy and stuff, because they're just so… blue, I guess. Mine are sort of a grayish blue but nowhere near his. His are just… whoa. Indescribable. Although maybe I'm giving him too much credit. I mean, Butters has some really blue eyes and so does Kenny as well as handful of others but there's just something about Tweek's that are… whoa. God damn it. I sound so gay. I blame it on Tweek.

"Shuddup Tweek," I mutter quickly and go back to staring at my shoes, awaiting a nice peaceful silence since I'm sure he'll take up the hint. He doesn't and starts thinking out loud again, only this time it's loud enough for me to hear too. He does this a lot without even realizing it; I usually don't pay much attention, but this time I hear something that snags my interest.

He's saying something about how horrible his day is blah, blah, blah and then he says and I quote "and now my sorta best friend's pissed at me!"

WHAT? I almost jump out of my seat and stare at him. _Almost._

_I'm_ one of the reasons why his day's horrible? Because _I'm_ pissed at him? And did he just say BEST friend? As in _me_? _Craig Tucker? _Oh my God…no way! I thought he hated me! I mean, I'm a horrible person! Especially to him! Why would he…what the hell possessed him to think that I was…that _we_ were….that what we were something more than just…just friends? I mean _best_friends? With _him_?

'Sorta best friend'….My heart skips a beat and I internally flip it off for being a dick and endangering my wellbeing. _I'm_ his sorta best friend.

"Tweek will you quit talking to yourself? And relax I'm not pissed at you, okay?" I love it when he freaks out. It's music to my ears, and it takes a lot of effort to mention the whole pissed off part without cracking a smile. For a minute there, I was afraid I was going to start stammering but somehow I managed to keep my cool.

Best friends. Craig and Tweek. Tweek and Craig. We could be the next Stan and Kyle! We could hang out together every day and make fun of Cartman and have sleepovers and stay up 'til 3 in the morning watching cartoons and build a Twinkie fortress and sneak into R rated movies and lots of stuff! The more I think about it the better it sounds. Maybe…maybe we _could _be best friends. Maybe…maybe it _could_ work out. Maybe…maybe I wouldn't_ mind_ if it worked out….

And that's when Tweek spills his coffee. All over his pants.

"OW, OW, OW, OW, OW!!" He rockets off the chair in this twitchy blond blur and in the blink of an eye, he's beating at his legs with his hands at the hot coffee spilled on his crotch. Somehow, despite the insane urge to laugh at him (isn't that what you do when you're on _fire?),_ my body moves on its own accord and in a second, I'm right there trying to keep him from injuring himself any more than he already has. That's something best friends do, right? Haha….best friends. I smile and grab him by the elbow to try and stop his flailing arms.

And then he smacks me right in my nose.

"Aww shit my NOSE! Tweek, you fucking MORON!" My hands fly up to cover it my burning nose and guard it from any other wayward slaps. Jesus Christ, is he _trying _to make me hate him? I start to back away from him while he stands there with this dumbstruck expression on his face until he realizes what he did. When he does realize what he did, he launches himself at me in a poor attempt to 'help' me.

"Oh shit! I'm sorry Craig! Is your nose okay?!" He lunges for my face and I jump on top of the chair trying to get away from him. "Is it bleeding?! Oh god I didn't break it did I?! Argh, stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid!" He screeches and starts pulling his hair. Oh god, screw an award, I deserve a billion, no, a _trillion _dollars or something for dealing with this!

"TWEEK CHILL OUT!" I yell and he does but not before whimpering out a small, pathetic 'sorry', successfully making me feel like a total asshole. Great. Now I feel bad for yelling at him. I mean, he thinks I'm… his best friend. I'm sure real friends don't do that type of stuff.

Damn it, I must be a terrible best friend. And now I'm seriously starting to feel like I'm forgetting something important too…

I glance down and remember that he spilt his coffee all over himself again. Luckily I have some tissues in my pocket since I'm starting to catch a cold and quickly shove some at him. I watch him as he pitifully dabs at the stain on his pants and then gives up and buries his face in his hands.

"Tweek? Uh, you okay?" God, I love that I have a pretty neutral voice most of the time. It betrays nothing, and I like that fact. It makes lying and hiding things from mom and dad a lot easier, but more conveniently, I don't sound nearly as faggy and remorseful as I really am.

He doesn't answer me so I start shaking his shoulder until he finally removes his hands and glares at me. He glares at me! I punch the fatass for him and get sent to the _office _for _his _sake_, _and he glares at me. I forgive him for _smacking _me in my cute-as-a-button _nose_, and he glares at me. AND I help him in his _time of need _providing napkins for his _flaming crotch_, and he glares at me.

Maybe I lied when I said my voice betrays nothing. The correct statement would be that it betrays nothing except for anger, frustration, and indecent thoughts because I think I'm about ready to damn him to a Richard Simmons-y hell but I choose the nicer way out. Instead of coming up with something witty and cruel to say back, I glare right back at his big stupid blue eyes and try to give him the finger but since he's my… best… friend… it's completely half assed and totally fails on me.

GOD DAMMIT!

Since when can't I just give him the finger?! A man should be able to give anyone the finger without a shred of remorse! Urgh, this whole 'best friends' thing is already going up in flames isn't it? ISN'T IT?! And what the hell am I forgetting?! If it wasn't the coffee all over his stupid crotch what was it? That stupid nagging at the back of my mind won't go away and I get the feeling that it definitely has something to do with today. Ugh… I should get one of those Blackberries or something. Then I'd never forget anything ever again.

We stay like that until he's called into Mr. Mackey's office. I hate that guy; he always gets me in trouble. I think I visit him more often than Kenny McCormick dies and _that_ is saying something.

The second the door clicks shut my ear is pressed against the door ready to listen to their conversation. I happen to want to know what the hell Cartman said to make him so crazed but unfortunately, Mr. Mackey has a soft spot for easily frightened blonds and barely talks to him. That bastard just tells him that screaming is bad and that he shouldn't do it again. When he asks why Tweek was screaming, Tweek just tells him he doesn't want to and he lets him go scotch free! Son of a…

The door knob turns and I scramble back into my angry and indifferent pose on my seat just as Tweek steps out of the office. I can't help but stare at him. This guy actually thinks of me as his _best friend. _I don't think anyone's ever thought of me like that. He looks at me funny (probably because I'm staring) then tells me it's my turn before zipping out of the office.

I get up and eye the office door for a moment then finally jam my fingers around the door knob. I swear, if that dickweed says 'm'kay' more than 4 times in a sentence I'm gonna....Oh son of a bitch! Today's Tweek's birthday isn't it?!

And just like that, I've figured out what I've been forgetting. God. Something tells me the only award I'm ever gonna get is the-biggest-douche-in-the-universe award. Move over John Edwards, there's a new douche in town and his name is Craig Tucker.

* * *

**Tweek**

"CRAIG?! What do you mean 'Craig?!'" I screech. My glass of milk shatters on the carpet while I sputter and point dumbly at an uncaring fatass. Said fatass frowns at me reproachfully from his cozy spot on his bed.

"I said what I said" Cartman hops off his bed, the bed springs creaking back into their typical places, and plops into the blue swivel chair by his desk. "You gonna clean that up, Twitchy?" He points to the mess I made on the floor. His voice is muffled over the heap of brownies he's shoving into his stupid vortex of a mouth. That… that fatass! This is just so fucking typical! I knew it! I knew he'd pull some bull crap like this! God I'm such an idiot! I can't believe I'm actually agreeing to this! _Why _am I agreeing to this again?!

"But why HIM?! WHY NOT STAN OR KYLE OR -GAH- KENNY?!" I yell. Yeah, I know I'm risking everything by even daring to question the kaleidoscopic logic of Eric Cartman but for some reason I just don't care.

"Because, Tweek, they wouldn't believe me. That Jew's got them brainwashed that I'm a narcissistic fatass with no heart whatsoever. Stupid Jew is worse then those god damn gingers. Friggen' daywalker."

"But Cartman! You ARE a narcissistic fatass with no heart whatsoever!" I blurt out. I blink dumbly at Cartman's angry face. Oh god, did I really say that out loud?! Jesus I think I did! Fuck! Now he's really gonna sit on me! Oh GOD I'm dead! I'm dead, I'm dead, I'm DEAD!!

"What'd you say, Twitchy?" Cartman's hands curl up into fat little fists at his sides as he glowers at me. If looks could kill, (considering it's Cartman, they probably can), I'd be pushing up daisies in an instant.

"SAY SOMETHING? ME?! I DON'T RECALL SAYING ANYTHING! ANYTHING AT ALL! WHAT ARE YOU- GAH- TALKING ABOUT?!" I yelp and yes, I am completely aware that I'm lying through my stupid chattering, coffee stained teeth.

"Urgh, shut UP Twitchy before I kick your ass," Cartman groans while he swivels dramatically in my direction and back towards his desk.

"But -urgh- Cartman you don't g-get it! I thought the whole point of this was so he _wouldn't _get hurt! Craig… Craig's my bestfriend, I CAN'T let him get hurt!! I can't! I mean, Christ even if he'll never think of me the same way, at least I can d-deal with it as long as I can keep him out of this insanity! He's safer in the light, away from all of the pain, suffering and underpants gnomes!"

"See? This is exactly why you're a total loser. You can't shut up! Look Tweek, if you really want to know so badly, Craig is like, totally necessary to our success! He's the only one who can keep you in check so you don't fuck up our mission! Things are going to become a lot worse Tweek. The gnomes are planning an invasion and you're going to have to face things that you can't handle because you're a pussy and nobody likes you. But unfortunately, you're my--_our _only hope, and if you screw up, not only will the world hate you, Craig will too! If Craig went with you, we could stand a chance! With his blunt aggression and uncanny ability to actually stand in close proximity of the lameness that is you paired up with your unprecedented knowledge of these creatures and amazing ability of sensing danger, we can WIN! So, does that satisfy you? Don't you dare say no, you twitchy bastard."

"I -urgh- g-guess so…" I suddenly realize I can't feel my left hand because I've been wringing it to the point where I've cut off all circulation. Cartman swivels around in his chair and rifles through one of his desk drawers until he whips out some papers and a Magic Marker.

"Right. Now then, I need you to sign some papers and then you can go on your merry way." He hands me the marker (dude, what's with the Mel Gibson stickers?) and points me to the mysterious papers.

"C-Cartman what am I signing? It's not something bad is it? Like my will or a prison grant right?" I give him a nervous side ways glance and yelp again when I involuntarily slam my shin into the desk as he grins.

He pushes a lock of fuzzy brown hair out of his eyes and stretches for another brownie from the tray. Ha. That's probably the most exercise he gets in a day. Reaching for brownies to shovel them into his fat mouth. There are only 3 brownies left out of the 20+ brownies that were warm, fresh and full of fudgy life 7 minutes ago.

"No, no nothing of the sort. I just need to have a legalized agreement confirming you've agreed to this. Once you've signed there's no backing out. You WILL sign the agreement, right Tweek?" Cartman raises a suspicious brow and taps his thick fingers on the legal document, handwritten with yellow-green, or possibly green-yellow, Crayola Crayon.

"Ngh, Y-yeah…" I manage to stutter out. Cartman grins and points to several lines on the paper. I'm so sorry Craig, but I don't have a choice. Cartman's actually right this time! I can't afford to fuck this up, for your sake and the world's. I'm sorry, I'm so sorry.

What would Craig say at a time like this? Oh yeah; sorry isn't good enough.

"Sweet. Just sign here, here, oh, and here. Oh god, this is _so _awesome!" Cartman says as I fill out the blanks with a big 'FUCK YOU'. He either ignores or just doesn't notice the bold print because he snatches up the documents and throws them back into his desk without even a glower.

"Cartman, can I -urgh- go now? I have things to do," I ask, wringing my cramping hands together and gazing longingly at the door. Yeah. Things. Like making sure my parents aren't DEAD! Maybe I can't protect Craig, but I sure as hell am gonna protect them!

"Of course Tweek of course," he says. Yes! I can leave! I can finally leave! I start to smile but then Cartman continues, "But may I ask… what sort of things do you have to do?" Cartman asks with a small grin. Dammit, there's that look again! What the hell does he want now?! I already signed his damn papers what more can he possibly want out of me?!

Actually I probably really don't want to know. He's crazy, he probably wants to steal my soul, or my knickers or…or other things that psychos like.

"I g-gotta set up for my -GAH- party." And make sure my parents aren't dead, that there are no gnomes waiting to assassinate me the second I switch on my coffee maker, set up gnome related traps to ensure a safe night and primarily, and get the hell away from you. "Why do you wanna know?" I ask suspiciously.

"Party you say? What for?" Cartman rubs his round chin, still holding that smartass tone of voice and completely bypassing my question. That conniving son of a bitch…oh god, please tell me this isn't going where I think it's going.

"My -urgh- birthday. It was y-yesterday but my parents decided to have it -GAH- today."

"Will there be cake?" Dammit. This is going where I think it's going.

"Y-Yeah," I mumble grabbing my backpack from the corner of the room.

"What type of cake?" Cartman asks. I turn and frown at his amused, almost curious, expression.

"Chocolate m-mocha swirl…?"

"Frosting or no frosting?" He asks, allusively implying what I dread he's implying. He licks his lips, probably thinking of MY birthday cake smeared across them and the rest of his face.

"What do you WANT from me?!" I cry out and bury my hands in my hair, frustrated. Shit, this is taking way too long! Who was I in a past life, Hitler?! What did I do to deserve this? I mean, what if my parents are already dead?! They'll never forgive me!! They'll probably disown me or something! Wait, no! If they're dead they can't disown me! Shit! But Granny can and if Granny doesn't want me, no one else will either! Oh god! I'll live on the streets! Become a beggar and drink ale from an old boot, whore myself out just to get some coin! I GOTTA GET HOME!!

"Your soul." Cartman replies naturally. Cartman wants… my soul…

"JESUS CHRIST!" I drop my backpack and throw my hands over my heart, like that's really gonna stop some sociopath from snatching my soul from right between the fingers of my rib cage. Cartman starts laughing and I drive my hands through my hair in frustration. Dammit! It's not funny! What is WRONG with this guy?! That psycho, I bet he really is gonna steal my soul!

"Sheesh, I'm kidding, I'm kidding. You can go now." Cartman waves me off with a short little laugh. I shiver and try to smooth down the goose bumps on my arms. A part of me, that all knowing part of me, knows that Cartman was _definitely_ not kidding.

_Y'know Tweek, he probably planned this whole thing out the minute he lost his underpants._

Shut up.

_You shut up._

"Okay…s-see ya Cartman…" I place my hand on the brass doorknob to freedom and turning it, I take my first step out of the dark, cold, cold, cold room of one messed up little kid. Just when I think I'm home free, Cartman, to my utmost horror, pipes up. Again.

"Yeah. See ya at eight Tweek."

"HEY!-"

**To Be Continued...**

* * *

**Hahaha the ending was my favorite part. Tweek and Cartman are just too fun to write. The next chapter will be up sometime this week or next week. Reviews? **


	5. A Man on a Mission

**AN: Next chapter! Now we witness the unearthly mechanics of Craig's mind. It's a startling experience I tell you; startling. Sorry for the wait lol, I lose track of time. So. Yeah. Thanks to KC again for the cleaning and such and thank YOU for reading this far. This story is like a fucking gauntlet for me lol. Oh and feedback's always cool too (take the HINT).**

**-uncmeister**

* * *

**Phase 5: A Man on a Mission**

**Craig**

The Tweak family's home freaks me out. I just don't get it; how can Tweek be such a… a basket case and his parents so freakishly calm? It doesn't make any sense man, no sense at all.

After I made my discovery that not only was I the crappiest almost-best friend ever and that I'd also forgotten today was Tweek's birthday, I had to haul ass to tell Token and Clyde the news as well. About Tweek's birthday, I mean, not that I was the biggest douche ever thing. Some things really are better left unsaid.

It was a pretty good thing too because they didn't remember his birthday either.

"Oh yeah! It IS Tweek's birthday today isn't it?!" Clyde exclaims, " I found them over at Token's house playing X-box over a tub of popcorn.

"Crap! I can't believe we forgot! Didn't he say something about that last week?" Token peels his eyes away from the screen for a second to look at me before looking back.

"Yeah. What were we doing again?" Clyde says concentrating on catching up to Token's hot rod racing through a virtual mall.

"Guitar Hero at Stan's," I say, standing over them, eyeing the third controller by Token's foot.

"Oh yeah."

I sigh and grab a handful of popcorn instead. Yes, I know. We really are shitty friends and no, I have no idea why Tweek even bothers with us. I'm starting to think he might have a lot more mental problems than I'd first thought.

Actually, no, not mental problems, more like 'social' problems. Let's put it this way: Tweek… is a loser. Obviously. So Token, Clyde, and I are pretty much his only friends, if you skip over that one time Stan and the other guys tried to use him as a replacement for Kenny. But you see, normal people--_sane _people ignore him because he's… he's… he's just Tweek! No one can really stand him--_ I _can barely stand him. What's worse is that just because we somehow can doesn't mean we're really that 'close' to the dude either. He's an okay guy but he's just impossible! I mean, he's terrified of everything with or without a pulse and, until the day I met him, I'd thought pussies as wimpy and pathetic as that could only live in France. Oh, how he proved me wrong. He's spastic, and twitchy and loud and insane, and just URGH! I think the best thing about him is that he knows when to shut up. Sometimes.

Where was I going with this again? Oh yeah; basically we're all he's got so he can't afford to be picky. It's like a take it or leave it situation, and so far it looks like he's taking it. Anything to avoid being alone, huh?

I glance at Clyde and Token sitting side by side pushing and shoving each other, and then I think about Tweek sitting alone in his room babbling about gnomes and underpants. You know, I bet he never even expected us to remember his birthday, let alone be his 'sorta best friend'. I think he just wanted the company. That makes me… no, it _almost_ makes me feel sad. Why should I be sad for his sake anyways?It's probably just pity. Lots and lots of pity.

I bite the inside of my cheek and my heart thumps in my chest. But dude, if he's just hanging out with us because we're his only real option besides Pip or the other losers, why would he think of ME as a best friend?! It doesn't make any sense. I mean, I always knew Tweek was crazy but not stupid! Ugh. I place my hand over my chest and grimace. I don't know if I like this feeling. It feels like I'm going to pass out or throw up or… or something.

Still, even though we were never that…close and we've never had that great of a friendship, I do feel kinda sorta bad for forgetting his birthday. Guilty, I guess might be the better word. I'm pretty sure he mentioned it a couple times throughout the week but I don't think I paid much attention to him. Most of what he says are rants about the government, fast food chains, communists and sadistic, children eating cults. Last time I checked, those were all interchangeable and not worth any of my attention.

"Uh. Dudes. His party's in like, 3 hours. Don't we need to get him a present or something?"

"Fine. We'll go now. Token's a dirty cheater anyways." Clyde grumbles sitting up. Token glares and gets up too.

"I am NOT! You were the one unplugging my controller the whole time!"

"And YOU kept pushing me!"

"Will you two shut up? Let's go already. My mom's home early so she can take us," I say, pulling the cord before they can save their levels.

"But--!"

"Let's go. Now."

"Fine…ass wipe." Clyde pouts.

* * *

"HEY! YOU COMIN' OR WHAT?!" I jump and spill my coke all over the kitchen counter.

"Jesus Christ, what is _wrong_ with you_?" _I yell grabbing a bunch of napkins and dabbing at my spilt soda.

"Snap out of it! We're gonna be late! You KNOW how Tweek gets when we're late," Token shouts at me from across the room. He's standing by my coffee table and keeps glancing at his digital watch like it's a fucking bomb ready to detonate.

I flip him off and look at the clock in my kitchen. Ten minutes to six. Enough time to grab some DVDs and go. Sweet.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah. I'm comin', I'm comin'. Here, lemme just grab somethin' real fast, okay?" I say and swipe my stupid present with the provocative looking Santa Clause posing by the fireplace from the counter. As it turned out, Clyde's mom ended up taking us last minute birthday shopping at the dollar store but by the time we were done, they were all out of birthday bags, so I had to choose between the sexy Santa or 'It's A Girl!' bag. If I'd had my way, it'd be in a foil covered cereal box but apparently old fashioned just isn't good enough anymore. Stupid stuck up assholes.

"Just hurry up okay? If Tweek calls the cops again, it's all on you, got it?"

"Yeah," Clyde pipes up from inside my refrigerator, rearranging the odd salad dressing bottle and jar of mayo. "Remember last time? He thought we were kidnapped by the Italian mafia and contacted the CIA just 'cause we were six minutes late! Oh _sick! _Craig you seriously need to clean out your refrigerator dude. You've got some serious funk goin' on in the vegetable drawer."

"Clyde. You're an idiot," Token says dryly. "But we definitely don't want a repeat of last time. God knows, maybe it'll be the Mexican mafia or alien abduction."

"Haha, or maybe Sasquatch decided to become a dentist and has us by our molars in some twisted dental office in the forest." Clyde snickers and shuts the refrigerator door. He tugs at the bright red lid of one of MY chocolate puddings and licks the lid with a content smile. Asshole.

"Okay! Okay! I'll hurry!" I yell and swing open my bedroom door to hunt around for my DVD's and my pack of gum.

I figured that if we really were best friends, it'd probably be cool to like, do best friend things and stuff. Like watch an 8 disc set of Red Racer over a bowl of Doritos. I mean, at least that's what Stan and Kyle suggested. I actually had to get some tips from Kyle and Stan on what a best friend actually 'does.' I mean, Clyde, Token, and I are close but not _best _friends. At least, not that I can tell.

Anyways, apparently "best friends" is like, a whole new level of friendship. Seriously, I had no _idea _the types of things best friends did together. It was like… complex. I actually had to take notes dude. _Notes._

I can see the corner of my blue DVD case lurking in the sea of crap by my TV set, so I grab it with one hand and reach for a handful of Chiclets laying on top of my dresser with my other. The front door slams and I take that as my cue to start running. They can never just wait, can they?

The frigid air is ready and waiting for me when I throw open the front door. I quickly draw the strings of my jacket closer before breaking into a quick jog.

"Hey! Don't leave me behind you assholes!" I shout.

As usual, they're already half way down the block by the time I catch up to them. Token glances over his shoulder and gives me an annoyed frown. I flip him off again and pop a couple rainbow pieces of gum into my mouth. What a dick. _I'm_the one that reminded him today was Tweek's birthday and he was the one being all picky and slow at the mall! Hmph. Who does he think he is---oh God. What is _he_ doing here? Shouldn't he be making Jew jokes or rallying Gingers or _something?_

"What the hell do you want Cartman?" I stop and turn towards the blob of concentrated asshole lurking out from the shadow of a street light. Clyde and Token look up from their epic conversation on the new season of Terrance and Philip as fatty clomps his way between us.

"Yeah dude, what do _you _want?" Token crosses his arms over his chest and frowns. God. Why did he have to buy that bag? That purple dinosaur just ruins the whole 'intimidating' look. It's not even one of those really badass Godzilla ones either, just a really cheap Dollar Store version. As if he doesn't have the money for a 5 dollar bag with a killer lizard on it.

Clyde nudges me in the arm and lets out a low whistle. I nudge back. From the looks of it, Token is still ticked about lunch with the whole Tweek episode. I don't blame him though; I'mstill pissed about it too. Cartman really is a total douche; I hate him and his fat ass. Not that there is much distinction between the two.

Really. I hate him. He's just…a total fatass. That's all there is to it.

"Why hello Craig; Clyde; Blackie," Cartman greets us casually with a little wave of his fingers. "How are we today?" Huh. I wonder what the chances of him getting mowed down by a bus right this second are. That'd make me _so_ happy.

"BLACKIE?!" Token exclaims angrily and gets all huffy when Clyde tells him to shut up.

I roll my eyes and thoughtfully toe a patch of weeds peeking out of the sidewalk with my foot. I don't like that twinkle in his piggy little eyes. That bastard is up to something, I just know it. "What do you want fatass?"

Cartman sniffs and yells something about being buff not fat, then goes right back to his smug little smile. If you'd call something as obnoxious and disturbing as Cartman's expressions of amusement a 'smile,' that is. Oh yeah, he's up to something all right. Just look at that grin. Whatever it is, it's going to be something extremely stupid and annoying.

"Oh me? I'm just on my way to Tweek's is all. He invited me to his party too. I believe I was told there'd be cake?"

I try to blow a bubble and end up choking on my gum.

"Tweek did _WHAT?!" _Clyde yells and pounds on my back while I cough and choke.

"Why the hell would he invite you Cartman?" Token asks bewildered and looks around as if he's waiting for some creep to lurk out from behind a bush and explain the whole situation to him, and then maybe ask if he can Google his Yahoo in exchange for the info. He finally shoves Clyde away and slaps my back once and my gum comes hurtling out of my esophagus and onto the cold pavement.

I flip it off and spit, then look at Cartman who's snickering in that stupid I-know-something-you-don't way of his. He catches my look and grins slyly at me in the light of the street lamps. The shadows flicker across his round features and the way his teeth are glinting it almost looks like he has little pointed teeth. I already know whatever he says is not gonna be something I like.

"Jesus guys, can't a guy just invite his best friend to his ninth birthday party? Seriously, you guys are acting _totally_ immature."

"WHAT?" The word explodes out of my mouth. My heart's beating fast, fast, _fast _and all I see is Cartman's smirking mouth. "WHAT did you just say? WHY is he inviting you?"

Cartman hmphs, "I _said _it's cause me and Tweek are totally BFFs!" And with that, Cartman whips out this sparkly pink bag from behind his back and says something about getting him the best gift that money could buy.

Oh. Oh, I was NOT expecting that. Best friends? Him? And Tweek? Wait-_Cartman _spent MONEY on TWEEK?! Is this for real? Why? _How?_ I thought I was…. I thought that _we _were…

"WHAT THE FUCK?!" I don't mean to yell since that's not really my thing but Jesus Christ! There's no way in HELL Cartman could ever be best friends with Tweek! Mr. Garrison would be straight as a nail before the _fatass_ would befriend _Tweek_! That bastard! "You? Best friends with Tweek? As IF!"

Cartman just laughs it off. That…that DICK! Who does he think he is?!

"Jesus Christ Craig, I never thought I'd have to say this to you of all people, but I must ask: What's the matter Craig? Sand in the vagina?" Cartman asks placing a finger over his lips innocently. Cartman's face has never looked so punchable before. I'm sure it did before but now it's like it has its own billboard begging to kiss knuckles.

"SHUT UP FAT BOY! YOU'RE NOT TWEEK'S BEST FRIEND! YOU'RE LYING!" I yell back and crumple my fists deeper into my pockets. He can't say he's Tweek's best friend! I'm his best friend! Tweek would never pick that fat tub of lard over me! Right?

"Jeez Craig, what's wrong with you? It's not like he's _your _BFF. Or… is he?" Cartman raises a brow and 'oh ho's' as I flush and stammer. Token and Clyde whip their heads around and flat out stare at me.

I open my mouth then shut it quickly. Wait a minute… Am I supposed to say this type of stuff out loud? I never told Token and Clyde about this whole BFF thing. Would they be angry? Does Tweek want me to tell them? Does he even want ME to know? Shit, what do I say?! "….Maybe," I grumble to myself, keeping my eyes locked on my shoes.

Clyde and Token look at each other and then at me. "Craig?" They ask. I can hear the surprise and confusion in their voices.

"You don't sound too sure of yourself Craig. Yes or no?"

"Fuck you! It's none of your business fatty!" I yell but keep my eyes off to the side. My face and ears feel like they're on fire which makes it all the more worse. What is this? Guilt? Shame? Embarrassment?

"But Craig, if I'm Tweek's best friend then it _is _my business!" Cartman places a hand over his chest melodramatically.

This is so weak. So, so weak. Like, really, incredibly weak. Like Nicole Richie with an eating disorder weak."…Well … I… err…" I start, looking at Clyde and Token's frowning faces. "…You see…"

Clyde and Token glance at each other and Cartman's stupid grin widens, "….God damn it, no!" I finally yell. I can't say yes! What if Tweek doesn't want anyone to know or what if I was wrong? I mean, he was just talking to himself as usual! I could have misheard him or something!

"Well then, what's your problem? Jealous much?" Cartman asks, the smug look never decreasing. He must have known I would deny it.

I yell a quick no and grimace when Cartman sniggers to himself and pokes Clyde and Token with an elbow. "Ha-ha-haha-ha! Oh dude, this is so totally awesome! Look at his face! He's totally jealous! Ahahahaha!"

"SH-SHUT UP!" I yell back. God, I'm so pathetic. I can't even come up with a good comeback. "I am SO not jealous!"

"Oh, you so totally ARE! Hmm, I wonder why?" Cartman taps a finger against his chin and 'hmm's. "Perhaps…. YOU wanted to be best friends with Tweek? Why Craig, I had no idea you liked Tweek that much! I mean, not that it's anything to be ashamed about or something."

"Cartman, go die in a hole." Token shoves Cartman aside and turns to me, "Hey, you okay dude?" He asks ignoring the giggling ASSFUCK beside him with what I can tell are some major difficulties. "Since when were you and Tweek like, best friends? I mean, are you guys best friends?"

"Yeah dude, I thought _we_ were your best friends," Clyde joins in jabbing a thumb at himself and then at Token.

Token shoves me when I answer with a rude gesture but I don't care; I'm too pissed for words. I don't need this. Since when did they care so much about who I liked or hung out with? Since when were WE best friends? Damn, this friendship thing is a lot more complicated than I thought it'd be. I have this urge to just kick something really, really hard; preferably, it would be the tub of lard jiggling and laughing his ass off in front of me. Instead I grit my teeth and glare at a beat up bottle cap by my shoe.

Urgh! I'm such an idiot! Why didn't I just say yes?! No--why did I even take that asshole seriously? I mean really? Cartman and Tweek best friends? How hilarious is that? I should've been laughing my ass off or maybe saying something really sarcastic, not trying to figure out different ways to kill the fatass without really '_killing' _him. Besides, it's just Tweek. Who cares?

"Whatever dude, let's just keep going," Clyde's nasally voice mumbles into my ear and he places a hand on my shoulder. And what's with the sympathy? What do I look like? A third grader? I don't think so. I can handle myself; I'm like, practically an adult! I don't need Clyde or Token's help or their concern. Besides, what's there to be sympathetic about anyways?

"Fine. Let's go," I mutter and brush his hand off my shoulder. I can't take this type of crap.

"Ha, that's what I though,t" The fat ass snickers and turns around. I flip his swaggering backside off but that clean satisfaction isn't there. Thank god Tweek's house is only five minutes away.

We walk on, but it's five minutes full of pain and lard ass related torture. Cartman follows us the WHOLE WAY THERE. I can't help but glance at him every frickin' second and back down at the sidewalk.

I'm _trying _to ignore these questions that keep popping up in my mind out of no where, but I'm failing miserably. I mean, what if Cartman really _is _Tweek's best friend? What if I heard Tweek wrong? What if Tweek really does like him more than me? What if _what? _So _what _if Cartman is Tweek's best friend? Why should I even care? I'm making too big of a deal out of this. It's not like we're official BFFs or anything. I'm not even technically supposed to know! And yet I _still _want to beat Cartman in the head with a mortar launcher. Could I seriously be… jealous? Of Cartman? Over Tweek?

No fuckin' way.

But… but what if I am? That could explain everything. I look up at the thin sliver of moon that's peeking through the 8 o'clock overcast and make a decision. There's only one way to settle this isn't there? Find out who's Tweek's best friend, from the blond's own lips.

As of now, I am a man on a mission.

**To Be Continued...**

* * *

**End Note:**

***yawn* I'm tired. It's 3 in the morning, my head is killing me and Craig still sounds wierd. I will work on that. G'night.**


	6. He was told there'd be Cake

**AN: HA! FINALLY! Chapter 6! Many things in here, many things that I **_**believe **_**you will enjoy. But first, let me thank you guys for the reviews! How I love them so! And to KC, know that I have not forgotten the woes and pains you went through with beta-ing this beast. Next time I'll make sure everything STAYS spaced. You have my eternal gratitude. **

**-uncmeister**

* * *

**Phase 6: I was told there'd be Cake**

**Craig**

It does nothing for my nerves when we tread up the small wooden steps of the Tweaks' porch and knock on the door with the fatass _still _whistling and gloating next to me. At first I thought he was just being Cartman and screwing with me like usual (what else does he do? Oh yeah--tea parties) but now I'm having doubts.

The door peeks open, and a smiling Mrs. Tweak appears in the door way, a 'Jesus Loves the Little Children' coffee mug in hand. Lovely mug, the only downside being that it makes Jesus look like a total pedophile, especially with that whole rainbow thing going on. She smiles politely and takes a small sip of coffee, "Ah, hello boys. Are you here for Tweek's birthday party?"

"Yes Mrs. Tweak," We all chirp in unison and wait for her to let us in. Oh god, I can only imagine how 'cute' and 'adorable' we must look with our excited smiles and little birthday presents blinding innocent bystanders as they sparkle and glitter in the porch light. Flamboyantly gay and Hallmark-y or not, I can't wait till Tweek sees my birthday present. It's probably not as cool as Token's since some of us don't have50 bucks to blow on a Harbuck's gift card and a giant robotic shark, or Clyde's for that matter. He decided he was going to be charitable and out of his own heart, give Tweek his prized pair of Hello Kitty panties that he stole from the girls as a birthday present. Gift wrapped and everything. But at the very least, MY present has to totally kick Cartman's present's ass right?

"Oh dear, hold on. Honey? Is Tweek alright for the party?" Mrs. Tweak calls over her shoulder and listens as the muffled voice of who I'm guessing is Mr. Tweak responds. "I'm sorry boys but it seems Tweek isn't feeling so well. We'll have to reschedule it for a different day, but while you're here would you like a nice cup of coffee? It's nice and fresh or perhaps a--"

"RESCHEDULE?!" The whole floaty Kodak moment comes crashing to the floor as our faces fall. Reschedule? But I still have to give him my present and watch Red Racer with him and eat Doritos and laugh at Clyde's stupidity together! I glance over at Cartman and swallow. And find out who's the best friend in this situation. That too. We can't just reschedule!

A voice calls out in the back ground and Mr. Tweak joins Mrs. Tweak on the porch. "We're going to need another mug of joe dear. He just can't seem to calm down." Mr. Tweak shakes his head somehow managing to look disturbed and yet completely tranquil at the same time. How does he do that?

"Really? But we've given him 12 mugs already! He's drunken more than a day's worth of coffee in three hours!" Mrs. Tweak exclaims and put a hand on her cheek worriedly.

"I know honey, I know. I'm worried too. Oh are these boys here for the party?"

"Yes they just stopped by"

"Why hello children, so sorry for canceling." Mr. Tweak runs a hand threw his scruffy hair, then says, "Say, do any of you know what could possibly have our little Tweeker so upset? We keep giving him coffee but he just won't calm down. It's so… peculiar." Mr. Tweak rubs his chin and studies each of us quizzically.

Ah, I see. So these idiots are the reason why Tweek is so… Tweek. But a calm Tweek isn't Tweek at all, so I keep my mouth shut.

That's when it hits me. This is my big chance! My eyes pop open and I cast a long sideways glance at Cartman who's swaying side to side behind me.

A little grin sneaks across my face and I look back up at Tweak's mom. So far fatass hasn't said a word yet and obviously can't see the beautiful opportunity that's just lifted its skirt and shown me the land of hope for a better tonight! If _I _can calm Tweek down, I can get the party back on track! Which means, then I can ask him who's his real best friend! I if could do that, I'd be _so_ happy.

Besides, a REAL best friend would be all over trying to calm a friend in distress, not just standing around eying the cake on the counter over Mrs. Tweak's shoulder. Oh, this is just perfect! I don't know if Cartman really does think of himself as Tweek's best friend, but I don't care. I've decided that I'M Tweek's best friend, whether Tweek likes it or not, and Cartman's NEVER EVER, EVER going to be Tweek's best friend. EVER.

"No, but can I talk to him?" I ask a beat. Like I said, I am a man on a mission; if Cartman really_ was _Tweek's BFF he'd have asked that immediately! What best friend wouldn't try to find out what's wrong with him? That whole 'best friends' crap really was just an attempt to piss me off! I knew it. Typical fatass. I wonder how he would have known that that would've pissed me off? I don't remember Tweek ever mentioning it to anyone before. Is he telepathic or something?

Either way, none of this matters anymore because there's no way Tweek actually invited Cartman. Sorry fatass, but even the 'bestiest gift money could buy' isn't gonna cut it for admission. I look over at Cartman, myself smug with excitement, searching for that oh-shit-I'm-caught look, but all I find is another amused smirk. Clyde shifts uncomfortably and nudges me to stop staring.

Mrs. Tweak smiles down at us and says, "Why of course! If you can help calm him down in time, we can continue with the party!" She claps her hands together and opens the door farther for the rest of us to file in.

Fatass included.

Oh dude that means Tweek seriously invited him! Dammit… does that mean they're actually….but he _said _I was his best friend! Me! Not him!

"Here, let me get those bags for you" Mrs. Tweek says kindly to us as we walk inside. I watch feeling slightly unnerved as she lifts the Santa bag from my fingers and sets it on the table next to Cartman's frilly pink one. Fatass wasn't supposed to be here. He was supposed to be bluffing! I don't know what's going on here, but now it's just a bigger reason to confront Tweek. The woman looks down at me with this weird understanding expression before she smiles again and pats my shoulder maternally. "He's upstairs in his bedroom. You'll know which room it is when you get there. Good luck!"

"Yeah, good luck Craig," Cartman titters from his spot on the floral print couch he's already collapsed on. Token sits on the edge of the sofa as far away as he can get from the asshole and Clyde gives me a little salute from his spot on the floor. I give a salute to Clyde and the finger to Cartman before heading up the stairs.

"Feh, I can't believe that bastard. 'Best friends' my ass. We'll see…" I grumble to myself once the others are out of ear shot, then decide to push Cartman out of my mind for the time being.

I reach the top of the stair case quickly and look around me at the unfamiliar surroundings. I can only remember coming to Tweek's overly humble abode once or twice before. Not much seems to have changed either. Same boring paint, same boring carpet, same boring over tidiness. I hear an obnoxious wailing coming from the farthest door on the right and grin. Mrs. Tweak was right. I follow the noise, and find myself staring at a simple white door with a little lopsided plaque with what _could_ say 'Tweek' in hieroglyphics hanging on it. The door is slightly open and I can practically _smell_ the coffee beans and fear emanating from it.

I wonder if I should knock or not. I raise my hand to the door, then pause and glance down at my sneakers, mucky with snow and dirt instead. It'd probably look cooler to kick the door in. I take a deep breath and kick the cracked door open. The wail I'm greeted with is nothing short of what I had expected.

"AAAAAAAAAHHHHHHH!! DON'T COME ANY CLOSER! I HAVE T-TUBE--!!!"

"Sheesh Tweek would you calm down? It's just me, Craig." I pull my hat down over my ears and wince, stepping into Tweek's room and shutting the door behind me. "You seriously need to lay off the," oh…my…god, "coffee."

Tweek's room is completely destroyed_. _It literally looks like Mecha-Streisand had a frat boy party and decided to Tweek with the aftermath, it's that bad. Tweek's dresser is overturned onto the floor with all the drawers piled around it, and the remains of a bed lay in ruins amongst styrofoam cups, toys and clothes. Even Tweek's prized Coffeemate is amongst the wounded with several of those foam suction cup bullets sticking to it's side, the offending nerf gun laying beside it on Tweek's small desk. There're scratches and dents all over the walls. ..dude is that blood?! Oh my god!

"C-CRAIG?! WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE?!" Tweek springs up from behind the overturned dresser. His face is wet with the tears from earlier and his hair is an even bigger wreck than usual.

"The party asshole." Tweek flinches and glances anxiously over his shoulder. "Now, do you mind telling me what the HELL is going on?!" I yell, throwingmy hands around my head indicating the disaster before me and storm over towards my stupid cowering… best friend. Jesus Christ is that seriously blood?!

"Aww shit, I-I c-can't -ngh- I mean I… Oh Jesus, Craig I c-can't tell you!" Tweek cries and starts twitching and pulling at his hair. Maybe it's Kool-Aid or paint or spaghetti sauce or something. Yeah that could be it.

"Oh really? Well can you please tell me why you're rescheduling the party?" I huff and ball my fists by my sides. What's he mean he can't tell me? Aren't BFFs supposed to share everything with each other?! At least, that's what Stan and Kyle told me when I asked them!

"N-no…" Tweek squeaks, wringing his hands together and pointedly keeping his shaky gaze firmly on the cluttered carpet.

"Can you at least tell me why you're rooms totally trashed? Seriously dude, what happened to your wall?! Is that BLOOD?!" I ask pointing to the alleged blood I mean, _Kool-Aid _stains splattered on his wall.

"I w-was…there was a….oh shit, I….I can't…ARGH!"

"_What?" _

"I'M SORRY! I'M SORRY! B-BUT I CAN'T TELL YOU!!" Tweek shrieks again and hands over his head like a piano's going to randomly plummet through the ceiling and crush him.

"Why not?!" I gape as Tweek's face jerks into a grimace. He stares at his shoes and starts mumbling to himself again. I have to strain to hear what he says next.

"C-cause I can't…" Tweek finally says and fidgets with his clothes again. I reach out to slap his hand away from his clothes and stop when I realize what Tweek's wearing.

"Tweek…what are you wearing?" I ask slowly and retract my hand and bring it to my side. Oh please don't tell me…

"…Dammit," Tweek mutters and glares off to the side, his right eye twitching as usual.

"Tweek. You're in a fucking…Christ what IS that? Why are you dressed up as a giant bottle of AXE? I thought it was your birthday not frickin' Halloween!" Funny how I got him a Christmas bag; maybe I should have gotten something with a sexy Grim Reaper.

"Errr I…ugh…-ngh- Cartman said---" Tweek starts but I cut him off.

"WHAT DOES CARTMAN HAVE TO DO WITH ANYTHING?" My hands almost automatically spring to life and grab him by the shoulders. His already wide eyes widen even more and he squeaks in alarm, but I don't let go. My mind's racing; is _this _the link I was waiting for? Is _this_ the connection? Why would _Tweek _give a flying fuck about what Cartman says? Why was he even talking to Cartman? Oh Jesus Christ, WHY WOULD CARTMAN MAKE HIM DRESS UP LIKE A GIANT BOTTLE OF SPRAY ON DEODORANT?! I can't believe this! What could Cartman have to do with this?! Why would he even listen to what the fatass has to say?

Unless…unless…

Tweek gapes at me with his ridiculously blue and bugged out eyes and breaks his gaze, muttering something about cake.

Unless they really are best friends.

"Oh. I-I get it now. You don't… like me anymore. You like… Cartman." The words tumble out of my mouth emptily and I ignore the sudden pang deep in my chest. It's the only logical explanation. He and Cartman are total BFFs for each other. Cartman… not me. My hands slip from his shoulders and I back away slowly. I know I wanted an answer but… but not that one. I was hoping…I was so sure that…but I guess I was really wrong.

"NO CRAIG IT'S N-NOT LIKE THAT!" Tweek looks horrified at the idea but then again, he looks horrified at everything on a day to day basis. Why would it matter now? He's best friends with the fatass. He's just lying to make me feel better because I'm one of his only friends. I know I should be angry. I should be _really_ angry after all_ he's_ the one who said I was his best friend! He's the one who led me on! He got my hopes up for _nothing! _But no, I just feel nothing, like I've just been hollowed out like some stupid pumpkin. Of course there's still that stupid pain going off in my chest, but the fact is, Tweek is best friends with Cartman--_CARTMAN_--and not me.

"Really Tweek?" I say turning towards the door. I don't want to look at him. "Then why'd you invite him to your birthday party? He said you were 'best friends' Tweek, and he said that he was going to get you the 'bestiest gift money could buy.' I…I just thought that _I _was your best friend, but I can see now that… that I was wrong." I say deadpanned and open the door. My chest feels like it's trying to suffocate me, how I don't know. All I can think is that I actually sorta…_wanted_to be his best friend but it looks like I just got excited over nothing. As usual. And that means Cartman gets the last laugh here. Not me.

Fuck.

Tweek rambles something about how I don't get it and that he can't tell me, but when I turn the door knob and take a step out of his trashed room the stupid, blond, twitchy idiot cracks.

"FINE! FINE I'LL TELL YOU!" Tweek throws his hands up in the air in wild frustration and shrieks when he trips over one of the many articles of clothing strewn about his room. "J-Just listen alright?!" He sputters, hurriedly kicking the clothes out of his way.

I look at him with a measured stare, from his hilariously worried face to his messy blond hair and then to his mysterious Axe costume before I relent and say, "Talk". I'm almost surprised by the relief I feel the second my hand falls away from the rickety knob and worms it's way comfortably into the soft of my pocket.

"Promise you won't totally freak out?" Tweek asks as seriously as someone can possibly be when dressed up as a life sized bottle of spray-on deodorant.

"Promise," I agree easily, gently closing the door with my foot and plopping down on his messy bed, but apparently Tweek isn't finished just yet.

"Or start calling me an idiot?" He asks anxiously tugging at the hem of his green shirt.

I can't help but roll my eyes at him. _"Promise."_

"Or laugh at me and--?"

"JUST GET ON WITH IT!"

Tweek gives a small 'eep!' and I smile. He takes a deep breath and starts twiddling his thumbs together before he starts.

"Okay. So… you know how I was freaking out because I thought I saw a gnome in the air vents at school? Well, I was right! And Cartman saw them too and came up to me after class and wouldn't leave me alone even though all I wanted was to go home and then he said he had to talk to me and made me go to his house and his mom made really good snicker doodles but he wouldn't eat them so I did and they were really awesome but Cartman told me he would sit on me if I didn't go upstairs to his room and so I did because I was scared of being killed and when we got there he told me that he'd been attacked by an underpants gnome and that it had stolen his underpants too and that he had to go commando all day which scared the crap out of me and then he said that they were gonna start targeting other people and that we were gonna start a resistance but I didn't want to but then he told me if I didn't help out the whole world would hate me and that I wouldn't be able to live with myself and he was right and I got scared because that was way too much pressure and I agreed to it and I had to sign an agreement with him and now he won't leave me alone and he made me invite him to my party and then he made me dress up like this because axe is irresistible and would definitely attract any gnomes lurking around and it did and I-I-I-got attacked by a gnome that's been documenting my every move!!! Craig they're trying to KILL ME!!!"

"…"

"C-Craig?" Tweek starts but I hold up a hand stopping him.

"Tweek," I begin calmly, and take a deep breath before continuing. "You are a complete and total dick. No matter _how_ many times I tell you that there are no such things as underwear gnomes, you _still_ don't listen to me. And that is why everybody hates you. I am going to turn around right now and walk out the door and forget about this _entire _situation. Good bye."

"B-BUT CRAIG!"

"GOOD BYE." I grind out turning around and walking straight towards his door. I'm trying SO hard to keep from screaming at him, but I just can't fucking believe it. All of that grief for this steaming crock of BULL?! What, did he _seriously _think I was gonna believe him?! What type of idiot does he take me—

The door suddenly bursts open and Clyde's comes barreling through the door frame with Token and Cartman close behind him.

…for?

"Oh hey guys, I was just leaving. Party's canceled for now--" I say but stop when Clyde starts running around Tweek's destroyed room, wailing something about panties.

"Dude Clyde what's wro--" I start before Clyde grabs me by my shoulders and starts shakingme back and forth sobbing. And then, just to make everything even more unsettling, he throws his arms around me and buries his face in my sweat shirt and starts squeezing me like I'm some giant teddy bear.

"AH! CLYDE! GET OFF ME!" I try to shove him off of me but the stupid idiot has his arms wrapped around me in a cast iron grip. Token appears out of no where and helps me pry the hysterical Clyde off of me. What the hell is wrong with him?! He knows I hate physical contact!

"Craig! Craig the-the Hello Kitty panties! They're…they're gone dude! Gone!" Clyde manages to choke out, clinging onto Token's side. In the background I hear a terrified gasp, but ignore Tweek for now. I have more important problems at hand right now.

Token shoves Clyde away from him when the idiot bursts into a melodramatic fit of tears and nasally sobs. "Oh will you shut up about the god damn panties?! We've got more important things to worry about!" Token snaps, smoothing down his rumpled clothes. He pulls a small handkerchief out of his pocket and wrinkles his nose as he dabs at some snot on his shoulder.

"B-but!" Clyde whimpers but Token shuts him up with another glare and turns back to me.

"Dude, what's going on? What happened to the panties?" I ask glancing over Token's shoulder at Clyde's sobbing figure. Token groans and throws his hands up in the air.

"Jesus Christ, just forget about the panties! Craig I think you need to see this." Token shoves a crumpled piece of notebook paper at me. "We found this in place of the….undergarments." He rolls his eyes when Clyde whimpers again.

I unfold the piece of paper and glance over it, each letter bleeding into fear. I gulp. What in God's name is… I blink at the mess of cut and pasted letters and then back up at Token and Clyde who's wiping his nose on his sweater sleeve.

"What…what is this?" I finally manage to ask, and look from Token's grave face to Clyde's damp one. Cartman seems to decide this is the perfect time to make his presence known and dramatically pushes his way past Token and Clyde from his spot in the back ground.

His eyes meet mine and never leave as he says, "Craig, it's…it's a threat. A death threat."

"A DEATH THREAT!" Clyde wails.

"A W-W-WHAT?!" I jump when Tweek's stricken voice comes from behind me.

A..._death _threat? Are they…are they fucking serious?! Who would want us dead? I mean…it's just…we're nine! I could see one aimed towards Cartman, but us? I skim the note again and realize that it's not just any 'us', it's specifically for Cartman ( well _that's_ predictable), Tweek (WHAT?) and… and _me_?! What'd I do?! What'd TWEEK do?! He couldn't hurt a fly! Seriously! He has a phobia of flies and other insects! But now back to the fact that they're threatening ME?! WHAT THE FUCK?!

"Are you guys fucking serious? Like, no joke? Who the hell is this from?"

Token and Clyde glance at each other and then at Cartman. Cartman nods once at them, and then looks at me firmly before answering. "Yes….we are quite sure of it's authenticity, and yes, we do know who the threat is from. We're… certain of it.", Cartman adds mysteriously.

"Well?! Who is it?!" I yell and look at Token who just shakes his head grimly.

"Promise you won't scream like the pussy I know you are?" Cartman squints and sends a darty glance over to where Tweek is currently going into cardiac arrest. For a second, he almost looks..._worried._

"Yeah whatever fatass," I answer quickly and stuff my hands deeper into my pockets so no one can see that they're trembling. Tweek might be out in the open with his twitchiness but I'm not. I'm a man. I'm not about to go around quivering like a fucking pussy.

"Are you _sure?" _Cartman asks and his eyes twinkle brightly. That sicko! Is he actually enjoying torturing me?! Sadistic fatass son of a… I glare at him and pick nervously at the frayed inner lining of my coat pocket.

"_Yes." _

"I mean really, _really sure?"_

"_YES."_

" Like HIV positively sure?"

"Oh Jesus Christ-YES!"

"You have HIV?"

"CARTMAN!" We all yell and Cartman finally relents but not before pumping the moment for dramatic build up. That immature bastard! Even NOW he's still keeping up his shit! What the FUCK is wrong with him?!

Cartman sucks in his breath and I start to gnaw at my lip. Who could it be? What did we do to them? What did TWEEK do to them? I flip people off all the time so I guess there'd be some who'd hold a grudge (God what pussies) but Tweek? What could he POSSIBLY have done to invoke the wrath of some anonymous psychopath? How am I gonna keep him out of trouble this time? He and I are best friends no matter what he thinks and it's my job to look out for him. But I'm nine dammit! I'm just a kid; what can I possibly do?!

Cartman clears his throat and I can hear Tweek behind me, quivering and jerking in fear. I can't even imagine how scared HE is right now.

"It was the gnomes Craig. Those god damn, underpants stealing _gnomes."_

It takes a while for me to understand what Cartman just said. It's quiet, is the first thought that comes to my mind. Too quiet. Even Clyde has stopped his constant sniffling and for a while it feels like the entire Earth decided to stop moving just to watch and wait motionlessly for Cartman's words to sink in. I open my mouth to say something, anything, but shut it when nothing comes out. Instead, a bead of sweat trickles lightly down my temple as I wait for something to happen. The tension is so high, something HAS to happen.

I don't have to wait long, because there comes Tweek's long winded wail of infinite terror that brings us back from wherever the HELL we just went, because there's no way the fatass could have just said that. I pinch my self and look around me as everything clicks back into place. Clyde starts sobbing all over again while Token tries to calm a shrieking Tweek with little results. The only thing I think to do is stare dumbly at Cartman who looks the most calm out of all of us. Even Token is looking frenzied. In the back of my mind I absently recall my present is still sitting next to the fatass's and Mrs. Tweek's face for no particular reason, except to recall what my original intentions were when I came up here. Somehow they suddenly feel years away as a new and much, much, much more unsettling problem replaces them.

Cartman frowns and looks from me, to Clyde, to Token, to Tweek and then back at me.

"Well then, so much for cake**."**

**To Be Continued...**

* * *

**The 'review' button is conveniently located below. If you click it, magical things will come, such as my happiness, and perhaps more chapters. Just so you know.**


	7. What Lurks in Laundromats

**AN: Lookie there! Another chapter? Astonishing! Okay, okay, so there are many amazing things wrapped up in ONE sparkling chapter, along with suspense! Drama! Anger! And, overcaffeinated Terror! But, first, many thanks to those who reviewed! It was really, really, REALLY inspiring to hear what you guys thought! They, being the reviews, really **_**were **_**motivating and actually **_**did **_**help in speeding up my writing process. And we thought that was all in FFN myths and legends! So, in my gratitude, yet another installment of TYS! Hope you guys like it and tell me what you think!!!**

**PS: I'm glad you decided to take the good friend route and beta this. I know how much you wanted to go the lazy routine so thanks a lot to you too KC :)**

**-uncmeister**

* * *

**Phase 7: What Lurks in Laundromats**

**Tweek**

These people…

"OH GOD! I can't do this dude! I can't!"

…are…

"Yes you can, Tweek! Just climb in, would you?"

…absolutely…

"NO! I CAN'T! I'LL DIE I TELL YOU!"

…fucking…

"Jesus Christ, you're not going to die. Now get IN."

..._insane._

My pulse thuds quickly in my ears, and my fingers tremble and blanch as my grip on the icy steel tightens. "He's right Tweek; you'll be fine," that traitor Token reassures me with a smile from his cozy spot on an overturned basket, but I know better than to fall for that. I don't trust any of them, not a single one of them--no matter _how_ reassuring the smiles are.

"Yeah, butt hole, you'll be fine."

"Shut up fatass, no one was talking to you," that OTHER traitor Clyde remarks dryly with a yawn. He stretches along the bench he's laying on like everything's okay when they are NOT okay. Not at ALL!

"AY! DON'T CALL ME FAT!"

Tiny beads of sweat trickle down my temple and along the side of my horrified face. I can't help but gape at the three completely and utterly PSYCHOTIC psychos in front of me. And no, I'm not being fucking redundant because that's what they are! Psycho! Insane! Mentally incapacitated! No, no, no, no, NO! I REFUSE to partake in this! Refuse! Don't they get it? This isn't safe! This isn't safe at ALL! We're in WAY over our heads! Way, way, WAY over our heads! I can already feel it – that all knowing sense of dread rattling in my bones, gnawing away at my sanity like Cartman on a buffalo wing. We're in danger – I'M in danger. Why can't these people see that?!

My right eye gives a little twitch of determination and I shudder for what feels like the millionth time today. This was _not_ how my birthday was supposed to be.

I was supposed to be at my house, eating cake with family and friends, opening birthday presents at the kitchen table, playing Twister in the family room, prank calling retirement homes, and stuff like that. I was NOT supposed to be stuck here in this place of pure unadulterated evil being pawned away for humanity's sake! No, as usual things had gone from mildly terrible to absolutely, horribly wrong.

"I AM NOT GOING IN THERE!" I shriek and wrap my arms tighter around the metal beam I've recently become attached to. "NOT EVEN FOR A THOUSAND--NO--A _MILLION_PEPPERMINT MOCHACHINOS!"

From the corner of my eye, I can see Token and Clyde exchange quick glances. "Dude, he's really serious isn't he?" one of the two whispers loud enough for me to hear and retort, "YES! YES I AM!"

"Yes you are, you fucking pussy!" Cartman yells, flushing indignantly. He whips out a too familiar piece of paper from the backpack he brought along for the mission and shakes it in my direction. "You signed an _agreement, _now you're getting in that fucking dryer! Besides you're the only one small enough to fit!" Cartman adds with a humph.

"NO! YOU'RE JUST A FUCKING FATASS, FATASS!" I yell automatically. My tongue suddenly burns and I realize my fatal mistake. I just called Cartman fat. I called fatass fat. FUCK.

"THAT'S IT! NOW YOU DIE!" Cartman roars and lunges for me like an enraged boar in teddy bear pajamas. Luckily, I scramble to the other side of the pillar before the animal can reach me.

"Will you two just SHUT UP?!" Craig yells throwing his hands up in the air. Cartman and I instantly freeze in our places: fatass with his arms thrown out in front of him ready to wring my throat, and me cowering in his shadow. Cartman throws Craig a dirty look over his shoulder and I almost glare at him too, but after all of the trouble I've put Craig through, I can only bring myself to pout in a self-contained outrage.

Craig looks at me levelly like I'm some irate brat screaming because this fat idiot stepped on my foot. I hate it when he does that! "Tweek, he's right. You're the only one who can fit, now just climb in the god damn dryer." My not-quite-but-some-what-of-a "best friend" tells me this as calmly as he can. I don't know when we became official 'best friends,' but he apparently made that fact evident earlier tonight when he unsuspectingly saved my life then harassed me about my connections with Cartman. He actually thought _I _was best friends with that conniving asshole! _And he was jealous too_, I think quietly. I'd be excited about this new development if it wasn't for the fact that he's trying to get me KILLED!

"Craig's got a point, Tweek," Clyde points out nonchalantly whilst poking through an abandoned Seventeen Magazine he found on the gross brown tiled floor.

"B-BUT WHAT IF I GET TRAPPED IN THERE AND THE DRYER TURNS ON?! WHAT IF THEY SHOW UP AND -NGH- I GET TAKEN CAPTIVE BECAUSE I CAN'T GET OUT?! THEY'LL TEAR ME APART WITH THEIR LITTLE GNOME FINGERS AND…AND…AND….I DON'T KNOW--MAKE ME MODEL BOYS BRIEFS FOR THEM OR SOMETHING?! THEY WOULD DO IT TOO! THEY'RE SICK AND TWISTED LIKE THAT! PLUS I HAVE S-STAGE FRIGHT!!! REALLY, REALLY BAD STAGE FRIGHT!" I shout, scooting further behind my protective beam from Craig, who looks like he's about ready to disembowel me, and Cartman, who just smacks his forehead with a groan.

"Oh. My. _GOD!!!"_

"Oh shut up Fatass", Craig mutters and then, suddenly something changes. His eyes flash and his lips quirk into a little half smile, and then turns to me and looks me straight in the eye. At the sight of his suspiciously amused blue eyes, my jaw drops and I freeze like a deer in the headlights.

Oh _shit. _

Oh SHIT! I know that look. It's _The _look--the same one he uses on me every time he wants to persuade me into to doing something I know is going to get me killed or cross some sort of bad karma God! More importantly, it's the one that ALWAYS FUCKING WORKS!

NO! OH GOD NO! I desperately throw my head to the side to try to avoid eye contact, but it's too late. The damage is DONE. Craig already knows that I know that he knows that I know that I'm screwed because he looks up at me from under his dark lashes and says in the most honest and connivingly innocent of ways that's more manipulative than reassuring, "_Tweek_, don't you trust me? I _said _I was going to be guarding it, so I'm _gonna _guard it. I won't let _anyone _hurt you. Pinky promise." Craig extends his pinky towards me, his eyes twinkling like stupid freaking stars.

I damn myself over and over again. That familiar feeling that I'm royally fucked churns my stomach as I stare horrified at him and then at his extended pinky. Why does he _always_ haveput me in these types of positions?! This isn't a matter of _trust_, for God's sake; it's a matter of LIFE or DEATH! I open my mouth to say just that but Craig, that _bastard,_ fixes me with the most scary don't-you-dare-speak-another-word-you-asswipe-or-so-help-me-god-there'll-be-hell-to-pay look. I quickly swallow my words and nerve and hastily interlock my pinky with his. "…F-fine. I'll -urgh- do it. But if I die---!"

"YOU'RE NOT GOING TO DIE!"

I stare helplessly at Craig, waiting for him to get some common _sense_, but with no luck.

"Well? Get moving" He says, gesturing for me to get a move on.

Fine. I give up. I'm going to DIE and he doesn't care. No one does. Because for some reason I'M the one that's crazy, not them. Fuck.

I suck in a deep breath and with much fear, turn to face what I am absolutely, positively sure is my ultimate doom: a standard Laundromat dryer, simplistic in design and in function--at first glance. Oh sure it looks safe, but I know it's far from what could be considered 'safe'. A laundromat dryer? Safe? Ha!

With a shiver I throw open the circular door and climb into the bowels of the dryer. It's dark and the chilly metal on the inside is cool to the touch. I slouch back into a more comfortable position, and squeak when Cartman slams the small door, cackling the demon he is outside my new dwelling. Best birthday my ass. With trembling fingers I pull out a small rectangular voice recorder I hid in my jacket pocket earlier and press the red record button.

"January 26th 2009; This is Tweek Tweak…Today is my ninth birthday and possibly my last. The time is 2:54 am and the location is…The Laundromat."

Never in all of my wildest dreams or darkest nightmares would I have ever begun to conceive the idea that I would have to spend my birthday--the one that was supposed to be the "best"--hiding inside some stupid cramped dryer at a decrepit 24/7 Laundromat. Despite popular belief, Laundromats are truly terrifying places. The creepy sea green tile, the flickering neon 'open' sign, the wall of washers and dryers rumbling softly, and the rancid scent of someone else's gym socks is enough to make my skin crawl. To add to the inviting scenery, abandoned hangers, laundry baskets, and clothing lay on benches all around us like corpses on a battlefield. But, it's not just the smelly socks and the creepy hangers that have me ready to forget my agreement and run all the way home; it's something much, much worse.

Do you know what lurks in Laundromats? I do. Oh, how I do. Let me ask you this: what else is there to wash, dry, starch and press besides socks, bras, shorts, skirts, shirts and pants? I'll tell you what: _UNDERPANTS_. There are underpants EVERYWHERE; in the dryers, in the washing machines, on the floor, in the baskets, on racks and hangers--there's even a giant mural of a pair of Tightie Whities for Clorox Bleach on the front window for God's sake!! And with so many pairs of underpants comes evil; short, bearded, pointy-hatted EVIL. It's places like these that are havens for underpants gnomes and that's _exactly_ why we're here.

Before you come jumping to conclusions, let me say that it was NOT my idea to come here in the middle of the night to search for _gnomes, _with me as the premiere choice for bait; it was that conniving fatass-son-of-a-bitch who thought this thing up. I'm talking of course, about Cartman.

After the "incident," Craig, Token and Clyde were shocked to say the least. Evidently all of those years of my warnings had never touched base with those "realist" idiots. Honestly, I've always known that they tuned me out, but come on! I snort and rub my embarassingly thin shoulder in a fruitless attempt to warm myself up.

However, I wasn't getting to how they're such wonderful friends or what fantastic listeners they are; I was getting to the fact that they're complete morons.

It went something like this. While Craig was interrogating me, Clyde was downstairs with the other two when Cartman decided to stir up some crap. Apparently, he was bragging about how his present was going to be way awesome and how much I was going to love it (like I'd love _anything _the fatass gave me). Clyde got all defensive and decided to show Cartman just how awesome HIS present was and how much I'd like HIS over Cartman's, but when he went to retrieve the present from his bag, all he found was a mysterious red envelope at the bottom of the bag.

If you know anything about Clyde, Token or even fatass, you know that they just HAD to open it. They didn't even check for poison or chloroform or, fuck ANTHRAX! SERIOUSLY? COME ON! But urgh, anyways, not surprisingly, it was actually _Cartman_ who suggested it since Clyde was freaking out about the missing panties, (the very same Hello Kitty panties he had snatched), but they all read it and were equally unprepared for what happened next.

The envelope was sealed with a tiny pair of black wax underpants and within it was a note addressed to me, Craig and Cartman that read:

"**In address to those who stand in our way,**

**  
**_**"We know who you are and we know what you're trying to do. We would suggest that it would be in your best interest to abandon those pursuits immediately if you wish to live. However, if you wish to continue meddling with things that are not to be meddled with, please take to heart that we are more than willing to take care of certain…complications by what ever means necessary. This is your one and only warning. We are watching you.**_

**  
**_**P.S. Dispose of this note immediately after reading. You have 10 seconds till self-destruction.**_

**  
**_**P.P.S. Just kidding. But you are warned.**_

**  
**_**-the Order"**_

The letters had been cut and pasted, and "the Order" is vague enough to make it impossible to tell who wrote it, but I believe the pair of BLACK UNDERWEAR says exactly who the culprit is.

What happens next is common knowledge, and later in the midst of the chaos that was me screaming, Clyde sobbing, Token rationalizing, and Craig swearing, Cartman had decided to become the big, "buff," and bold hero of the day, lumbering into the center of the room where he bellowed a very loud, "SHUT UP," to get our attention. He held up that damn note like he was Rafiki holding Simba from the Lion King, and in many wise and colorful words, explained and persuaded the ignorant three (Clyde, Craig, and Token) that something had to be done about the underwear gnomes, whom they had until an hour earlier, never even believed in. Cartman's plan was to sneak out at midnight when all the stalkers and serial killers are out for tea and biscuits and hang out at a god-forsaken Laundromat to try to capture an underpants gnomes. ALIVE.

But you know what gets me? My friends went along with it. They WENT along with it! Who knows, maybe it was a moment of weakness for them, or _perhaps _it was because what Cartman had to say made a lot more sense than a death threat from pint sized garden icons, but the fact stands that they consented to a plan that Cartman – CARTMAN – had concocted.

Oh, and notice how I had no involvement with the decision process– that's because I didn't. In fact, I was REALLY against it but who can forget that no one EVER listens to Tweek Tweak the raving lunatic! GOD DAMMIT! Now I'm stuck on MY birthday as living BAIT for godless underpants stealing KILLING MACHINES in some creepy Mountain Rain scented HELL at three in the morning (three o' three to be exact), a.k.a. THE WITCHING HOUR!

I swear it was that fucking fatass! He's too smart for his own damn good! He had me beat from the beginning, forcing me into some sort of agreement with him just to hold it over my head at every twist and turn. The second he had said "capture" and "gnome" I practically had a heart attack. Actually, I bet I did. Of course I called him insane and told him that it was suicide! (Capturing an underpants gnome? ALIVE? Who does he think we are?! The fucking ghost busters?!) But, he laughed and cruelly told me that I had "an obligation to the contract," and that I was already beaten four to one. What's worse was that he was right. I _was _beaten four to one and I'll never forget Craig's face when he agreed with Cartman and told me to quit being such a pussy and just go along with it.

'Just go along with it?!' Out of all the nine long years of being antagonized over my overly paranoid nature, of being criticized and judged and laughed at, never have I felt this bad. I would have at least expected _Craig_ to agree with me and stick up for me but no; he sides with my most hated enemy (with the exception of decaf coffee and fake sweeteners) who he hates too! _And _he has the nerve to suddenly decide he's my best friend five minutes beforehand! What best friend does that?! God, I'm so MAD! I never get mad! But now I am! GAH!

I need to calm down. I need COFFEE. There must be some perfectly logical reason as to why Craig's being so weird. Maybe he's been brainwashed or something. I wouldn't doubt that the fatass has some sort of hypnosis or psychic ability to bend and twist innocents to his wicked ways.

I sigh and rub my temple tiredly, the darkness of the dryer easy on my strained, twitchy eyes. I take a deep breath of dryer-sheet scented air and release it again. Everything's just gone to hell and the reason is because of one tank sized asshole and some pintsized menaces who have a taste for delicates and destruction. To be honest, ever since those damn gnomes started stealing my underwear back in preschool, I _knew _something like this was bound to happen, and that they would ruin my life and the lives of countless others. But I had never expected something like _this_.

I shudder and wind my thin arms around my legs, resting my chin on top of my knees. Maybe I should've been less spineless. Maybe I could have prevented this whole outbreak earlier had I just followed them to their realm and destroyed them before they had the chance to get us. But the fact stands that I didn't, and now I have to do what I hate doing: deal with the consequences.

Just when I'm about to sink back into my pity tirade, I hear a sharp yelp proceeded by yelling and cursing from outside my metallic prison. Immediately I twitch as a stab of cold relentless fear pierces into my stomach. I have to bite down on my lip to keep from making any noises. Trembling, I hold my ear to the door as a struggle proceeds outside followed by a startled gasp and then everything falls silent.

My heart is pounding in my chest as my eyes widen in fear. It's quiet.

Oh god. OH GOD, OH GOD, OH GOD, OH GOD, OH GOD, OH GOD, OH GOD!!!

What happened?! Why's it so quiet?! Did the gnomes come? Did they abandon me or did they catch the gnomes? Or did the gnomes catch THEM? Oh GOD! What if they're dead?! What if the gnomes KILLED THEM!! Tears of panic spring to my eyes as I start to hyperventilate. What if they killed Craig?! He was supposed to be keeping me safe! If he's dead I'm dead!

I whimper and scoot as far away from the door as possible, my shoulders pressing against the back of the dryer. Suddenly, I hear another banging sound off by the dryer to my left, and then another, and another. Realization dawns on me that someone's opening all of the dryers one by one and its only a matter of time before I'm caught. My chest rises up and down quickly as my breathing increases rapidly with pure fear.

The slamming comes closer and closer until I feel a presence standing right outside my own hideout. This is it. I'm going to die. I'm going to die on my 'best' birthday because of that fatass Cartman and those stupid evil, evil, evil gnome son of a bitches.

I brace myself for disaster as readily as I can manage, my heart thumping with every precious second of life. Please, please, please God save me! I know you don't like me and seem to have some sort of sick pleasure torturing me every chance you get, but PLEASE! For once in your eternal existence, HELP ME! I'll do anything! I'll become a straight laced Mormon! Go to Church every weekend, attend Sunday school! Jesus Christ, I'll even go door to door trying to expose people to the wonder that is you! JUST SAVE ME DAMMIT! Suddenly, like an answer to my attempt at a prayer, the metal door flies open and I gape at a surprised and very, very, VERY pissed off Kyle Broflovski peering in at me from the outside.

I'm saved. I'm truly saved. Thank you god. Thank you. Wait a minute...shit, does this mean I have to be a Mormon now?!

And just like that, my best day ever has gone from bad to worse, to completely and utterly annihilated. Actually no, maybe not completely. From the look on Kyle's face, there's still more horrors to come. Man, I'm need some coffee and some luck. Unfortunately, with Cartman in the way as well as these God forsaken gnomes, none of that's likely to happen. My future seems to be getting grimmer and grimmer by the second...

**To Be Continued...**

* * *

**Click the magical review button and you shall be granted a new chapter and the uplifting knowledge of what the hell is going on :D I mean no offense to Mormons lol. **

* * *


	8. The Beginning of the End

**AN: Oh that's right. An update. I tell you my friends, this story, in the golden words of KC, is becoming QUITE hardcore. A chosen one, a gnome, and the beginnings of a heinous plot unfold! Terror! Trust! and Tyranny of a particular fatass awaits you in the following production. Read my friends. Read.**

**-uncmeister**

* * *

**Phase 8: The Beginning of the End**

**Kyle**

I was right. I was fucking right. The minute I saw him hanging around _Tweek _of all people, I just knew he was planning something.

"God dammit, that stupid fatass bastard, he's so fucking TYPICAL!" I howl to the cold night sky and kick the concrete beneath me. The bluish light from the living room cuts out patches of darkness on Stan's driveway while a slight breeze ruffles our clothes and flushes our cheeks. Lucky for us, Randy sleeps like the dead after one of his margarita fests with the other dads down at the bar.

"Dude, Kyle chill out, it's just Cartman. He does stuff like this all the time. If anything he's probably just trying to sweet talk Tweek into getting a piece of his birthday cake or something," Stan says plainly as we begin our trek towards the Twitch's house.

"That's not it Stan! He always has some really gay idiotically complex scheme going on! It's always the same with the dickwad!" Really, Stan can be way TOO nonchalant sometimes.

"Jesus Christ, Kyle, you and your Jew senses."

"_STAN!"_

"Jeez, chill out; I'm just kidding. But seriously, I think you're overreacting."

"I am NOT overreacting! He's up to something! I KNOW it! I can feel it in my gut! That fatass is planning something! And when I find out what the hell he's been up to, I'm going to kill him!"

Stan sighs and rolls his eyes. "Whatever dude. Let's just hurry up. I'm freezing my ass off out here in the middle of the night when I could be wasting my time more wisely."

"Yeah. Right." I mutter shortly and pick up the pace. "The sooner we get there, the faster I can figure out what the HELL is going on."

* * *

**Tweek**

"K-KYLE?!"

I finally manage to choke out. There he is! He's real! He's not a gnome! He's not a blood thirsty gnome! I'm not dead! I'M NOT DEAD!! Thank you God! Thank you! Becoming Mormon, I decide, is just one small sacrifice to my overall survival, a sacrifice that can easily be forgotten and ignored, like it had not even happened. Since when have I ever been one to stick to my word anyways? I'm a lily-livered brat who'll flip sides when things get bad. But enough on that. It's ridiculous, this relief, this happiness. I think I could just throw my arms around Kyle right now and hug the living daylights out of him, but that would be just short of crazy. Not that it would really matter in my case.

"Tweek? What are you doing in there?" My redheaded savior questions, his pleasant face a beacon of hope looming before my eyes. "Here, need a hand?" Immediately he reaches into the darkness without a thought in the world, (Honestly, what if there was some treacherous creature waiting to take off a finger or two? Didn't he SEE Gremlins?!), and grabs my hand, pulling me out of my own personal limbo and into the light.

I stagger out of the dark cavern and stumble blindly face first into something firm and cozy. _I'm safe…I'm safe! _is all I can think and I subconsciously cling to whatever object it is I've latched onto, snaking my eager arms around it like some crazed python. There's this wonderful reassuring warmth against my cheek that seems to agree with me and I live in the moment for just a second. Note: I don't do that often. I'm always speeding off in the opposite direction every chance I get. Stopping for even a second could risk everything, but I can make an exception tonight. My eyes slip shut and I subconsciously lean forward with a burst of nervous energy, enjoying the immediate comfort. Safety certainly feels nice, I decide with a shaky sigh of someone who's just barely missed a grenade to the face by a hair.

"T-Tweek?" Kyle's surprised voice rings out somewhere above my ear. "Are you okay?"

"I-I…the gnomes! I was so sure I was…" I stutter blindly into the orange material of his jacket. Orange jacket? His? W-wait a minute…My eyes pop open and find myself _inches away _from Kyle's lightly freckled face. Hm, I guess Cartman was wrong. Kyle really isn't a Daywalker because look, right there! Freckles. I can just barely see the slightly darker speckles of peach blending inconspicuously with his features. It's only when I realize I'm _hugging_ him that I frantically push away. Luckily, Kyle doesn't seem to care or notice for that matter, but that doesn't do much to quell the embarrassment. "GAH, I M-MEAN YES! I'm f-fine. I mean, at least now I am! You just…you just scared me man!" I stammer, keeping my eyes firmly planted on the ground.

Jesus, I didn't even notice I was hugging him! Oh God, the humiliation! I guess I'm way too excited about being alive. Then again, I'm still numb with TERROR from the night's latest occurrences. I can barely feel my fingers let alone an inappropriately friendly hug.

"Are you sure? 'Cause you look like you just saw Cartman naked." At this, I nearly gag on my spit and catch Kyle's eye. 'Now THAT would be scary,' we both simultaneously seem to think, but I'm the only one to voice my opinion on that.

"OH GOD, THAT'S JUST -NGH- SICK! And…and I AM sure! I'm fine….R-really!" I add after a moment's thought. I have to make this sound legitimate after all.

"_Right." _Kyle eyes me with a skeptical green eye. "What's going on? Why were you in a dryer?"

"Why was I…" I trail off, "OH! W-wait a minute!"

That's right! How could I have forgotten for even a second? The contract! The plan! THE GNOMES! Dear lord, the GNOMES!

"WHAT HAPPENED?! WHERE IS EVERYONE?! ARE THEY OKAY? THEY'RE NOT DEAD ARE THEY?! OH GOD! OH GOD! HOW COULD I FORGET! I SWEAR IF THAT FATASS GOT THEM ALL KILLED I'LL--I'LL!!"

"Wait a minute, CARTMAN MADE YOU DO THIS?!" Kyle suddenly yells, spinning around to point at something or someone behind him. "AH HAH! I KNEW IT! I TOLD YOU HE WAS UP TO NO GOOD STAN! I TOLD YOU!"

Suddenly a voice grumbles angrily from somewhere behind Kyle, "God damn Jew senses." My eyes pop open and I spring to life. I KNOW that voice. That nasally, conceited, sarcastic, whiny-ass voice that could only belong to the fatass! If he's okay that must mean…!

Kyle lets out an alarmed yelp when I throw myself a ways past him and stumble across Cartman, Token, Clyde, Stan, and finally Craig littered in the background.

"They're…they're okay! They're alive!"

And there they all are. Safe and not laying naked in a puddle of blood and fabric softener. Thank God. For a second there I thought they were goners for sure. At least I can breathe again. I inhale deeply and exhale with a relieved sigh but when I look up to really take in the scene, my breath catches in my throat.

"Oh. My. God."

This is when I realize that something's horribly wrong.

For one, there's Cartman, except he's cursing on the floor trying to hold back the cherry gush of a nosebleed with a couple of dryer sheets. Standing beside him is a bewildered Stan Marsh covered head to toe in powdered laundry detergent, a trembling Clyde clutching his side and talking to himself, and Craig and Token frantically trying to sit on top of an overturned laundry basket. No. No, wait a minute. They aren't trying to sit on it… they're trying to hold it down. I squint at it closer and squeak when it gives a sharp jerk to the side all on its own.

"Shut up Kyle! This isn't the time to get worked up over Cartman! First, we have to figure out what the HELL is going on since these retards won't tell!" Stan yells angrily, small little plumes of the powdery white detergent billowing off of him and onto Clyde's nearby head. When I turn back to Kyle, I finally notice the frightened and panicky glint in his eyes and the smear of blood on his knuckles. Everything starts to click into place as I stare hard at the terrified faces around me and then down back at the laundry basket.

This isn't happening.

This is NOT happening.

"Shit, you're right," Kyle mutters to himself, rubbing his temple nervously. "Tweek, what's going on? Weird shit's been happening all around town! People's underpants are disappearing by the dresser load! Everyone's freaking out!" I hear Kyle talking to me but suddenly his voice sounds so far away…"Tweek?" He asks again, but I don't answer. I can't. I'm frozen to my spot, staring in absolute horror at the space beneath Craig and Token's butts.

It can't be.

It can't.

Snarls issue from beneath the green plastic cage and ferocious black eyes glitter back at me in the faint darkness. My stomach turns to water and a moan of absolute terror wells up from inside me.

IT IS.

"C-Craig? What's under that basket?" I ask, my voice thin and quivery around the hardened lump of fear rising in my throat.

"Tweek?" Craig cringes and looks at me for the first time and with alarm, "Don't. Panic."

"Craig, _WHY_ IS THAT BASKET MOVING?"

"Tweek, please, don't panic!" Token swivels in his spot and holds up a hand to keep me away.

"Craig, _WHAT_ IS GOING ON?"

"Tweek, for God's sake; Don't. Do. Anything. Rash"

"Rash?" I repeat. "Why would I do something rash? THERE'S NOTHING TO BE RASH ABOUT! NOTHING AT ALL! OH WAIT, EXCEPT THE FACT THAT THERE'S A BLOOD THRISTY GNOME SON OF A BITCH UNDERNEATH THAT BASKET! WHAT, ARE YOU GUYS OUT OF YOUR FREAKING MINDS? HOW CAN I DO ANYTHING '**RASH'**!!"

"Shh, _Tweek, _shut up! Shut up! SHUT UP!" Token sputters panicked. "You're going to scare it!"

"SCARE IT? ARE YOU FUCKING INSANE?! THERE'S A GNOME UNDER THERE! KILL IT OR SOMETHING BEFORE IT GETS IT'S SHARP LITTLE FINGERS AROUND OUR PANTS AND LEAVES US UNDERPANTS-LESS AND DEAD!!"

My heads reeling and everything's moving fast, fast, FAST and just like that, there's nothing. Sweet, sweet, nothing. The next second I'm leaning on something warm and sturdy again, with worried murmurs whispering all around me. I blink away the sudden darkness, and blearily stare up at a blend of faces surrounding me.

"Tweek?"

"Shh he's waking up!"

"Shove it fatass."

"Don't call me fatass, Jew!"

"Don't call me JEW, FATASS!"

"Honestly, human children these days…"

My eyes snap open and I fling myself back against (what the?) Kyle scooting as faraway from everyone else as possible. That voice…

And then suddenly I spot the speaker! Right there! Between Kyle and Cartman! Standing there, with a tiny finger stroking his long majestic white beard, is a stout pointy red-hatted gnome. I could scream. In fact I do. Very loudly too.

"GN-GN-GN-GNOME?!!! GNOME! OH GOD, IT'S A GNOME!!"

"Dear me, is this fellow alright?" The sickening creature chirps in a cultured British accent. I gasp. Fuck. He's British too?! OH GOD OH GOD OH GOD!! THIS IS BAD! THIS IS REALLY, REALLY BAD! WE'RE ALL DEAD I TELL YOU! DEAD! HE'S GOING TO KILL US! HE'S GOING TO KILL US ALL! AND NO ONE'S DOING A DAMN THING!

"W-who are you?! What do you want from me?! For the love of God, PLEASE DON'T KILL ME! MAKE ME MODEL BRIEFS FOR YOU, FORCE ME INTO A LIFE OF DRY CLEANING, OR MAKE ME TAP DANCE IN FRONT OF A BIG CROWD-- PLEASE JUST DON'T KILL ME AND TAKE MY UNDERWEAR!!!"

Cartman snickers in the background and Token just sighs. What is WRONG with them?! How can they be so--so--CALM about this?! Do I have to spell it out for them? There is an UNDERPANTS gnome RIGHT in front of them! At _least _have the decency to stare in disgust and wonder at the fabled creature whose existence I've spent 9 years of my life ranting about!

"Now now, I have no interest in killing you nor do I have any interest in your bloomers my young friend. My name is Alfred Knickerbockerand I am a proud member of the _Tube_ _Sock_ Industry. Rest assured my twitchy friend, I mean you no harm."

I pause at the word and instantly remember the scene in my room only several hours earlier. Cartman had told me that tube socks were an underpants gnome's kryptonite. I thought he was just bullshitting me. Could there have been some sort of truth to that or is it just some abstract coincidence?

"T-tube sock?"

"Yes. Tube Sock."

"Wait. So y-you're not going to kill me?" I ask in shock. He's lying! Lying! My inner voice screams at me. Never trust a gnome! Never! And yet…

"No. I have no intention of smiting you." …And yet, I feel like I can trust him. My gut seems to find him agreeable. Oh God, maybe I really am going insane!

"And you're not going to take my underwear?" I ask and I can hear the change in my tone. I don't sound scared anymore, or at least as panicked. I sound like I'm starting to trust him. I sound like a fucking lunatic.

"Not at all."

"Really?"

"Really, really," Alfred says with a grandfatherly smile.

"But you're a…" I start to protest but the old gnome cuts me off abruptly.

"Yes my dear boy, I am well aware of my species. However, not all of us gnomes are 'Godless killing machines' like you say. I fear that lies in the newer generations my friend. Now then, if you would please be so kind as to allow me to talk to you in a more private place, I would greatly appreciate it. I have traveled long and far searching for you and my old bones are aching. Would you per chance happen to know of a place where we could settle down and have a nice hot cup of tea? I believe a more comfortable atmosphere is in order, for I have the most gravest of news to bear and it would be easier to deal with in a more calming setting don't you think?"

Okay, this is NOT what I was expecting. I mean, cripes look at me! I'm talking calmly to a gnome! A GNOME! But he seems… nice. And not a complete hell-bent psychopath. I… I think I can trust him. Or at least, I trust him more than the fatass. "We could always go to my dad's coffee shop. I can just borrow the keys and we could talk in there. There should still be some tea left from earlier in the fridge too," I say feeling more confident. "It's kind of cozy and private I guess."

"Splendid! Simply splendid!" Alfred clasps his hands together and pats the top of my shoe emphatically. "Shall we be off?"

"O-okay," I say. Now I feel very comfortable with this idea; however, I can't help but wonder what the news could be. Grave news from an underpants--err, 'tube sock' gnome just CAN'T be good. In fact, I'm absolutely sure that it's borderline cataclysmic. I gulp and start to lean back when I suddenly hear a quick intake of air. Wait a minute …

"Tweek… can you get off of me now?" Kyle mutters, looking away annoyed.

GAH! I ALMOST FORGOT! I yelp and scoot as far away from him as I possibly can. My ears and face feel like they're on fire. I'm such an idiot! Idiot, idiot, idiot! This is the second time I've done something weird in like, 20 minutes! Or at least, REALLY weird! Ugh, I need to pay more attention. I mean, what if I was leaning against a serial killer or a rapist or some hideous monster?! I'd be a dead man! Honestly, you'd think I'd have more sense than this. A bead of sweat trickles down the side of my face and I give a little nervous laugh. "S-sorry. I didn't r-realize…"

"Whatever dude." Kyle once again dismisses everything with the judicial power of a god, and relief allows my blood to circulate away from my head.

I glance up and for the first time I notice Craig looking at me. Only he's not just looking at me. He's actually staring at me through his dark bangs. No, he's GLARING at me. He notices my glance then rolls his eyes and takes interest in his stupid shoes again. What's _his_ problem? If anyone should be glaring it should be me! Bastard.

Alfred coughs a little bit, and I glance back at what could possibly be the only decent gnome of the entire species. "Now, if we can be on our way, we can start discussing--"

"AY! Just where do you two think you're going?!" Cartman grinds out indignantly. "I believe WE deserve to know whatever bullcrap news you bring."

"Yeah!" cries Clyde. "Tell us!" Jesus, what is he, Cartman's new cheerleader? I almost roll my eyes at the enigmatic brunette, mindlessly following the fatass like some mindless fanatic. Now I know how Token feels.

"Now, this is private information. I can't just share it with anyone. I can only share it with the Chosen O--"

"No way you little midget asshole! You're not going anywhere! How do we know we can trust you? What if you're just lying and trying to get Tweek alone so you can kill our only source of Gnome information?"

"OH GOD! HE'S RIGHT! WHY DIDN'T I THINK OF IT BEFORE?!" I screech and throw my hands over my head.

"Pardon me, but I am certainly not a midget! I am a proud member of the gnome variety and I take no interest in foul play against minors! I am a Father of the Revolution! I am only here to be of assistance to the young master!" The ancient gnome sniffs in outrage, throwing a tiny hand over an equally tiny chest in a dignified manner.

"Wait a minute." Kyle, always having to be the clever one, butts in. "Chosen One? Were you just about to say Chosen One?"

"Well, yes," Alfred says, looking agitated. "Yes I was, that is, before I was so rudely interrupted. Honestly, you children have absolutely no etiquette! I rue the day you sorry lot enter the real world."

"Chosen what?! What's that supposed to mean?" My mouth drops and flaps around mindlessly as I try to put two and two together.

"It MEANS dumb ass, YOU'RE the Chosen One," Craig snaps angrily. My jaw tightens and I almost throw him a nasty glare. Almost because I'm so nice. What the hell crawled up _his _snatch and died?

"ME? THE C-CHOSEN ONE?!" I repeat, forgetting my anger immediately.

"Well, that's one of the things I need to talk to you about boy'o." Oh God! Chosen One? Me? That's WAY too much pressure!! I can hardly handle being an insignificant background character! Oh no, this can't be happening!

"Are you saying TWEEK is the Chosen One?" Cartman gapes, his round face blank with shock. Obviously fatass wasn't expecting that either.

"Yes, yes, he's the Chosen One, I'll explain it later! Now can we get on to having our little chit-chat my twitchy companion?"

I begin to open my mouth to speak, when Cartman's grubby hand finds itself over my lips.

"No way butt hole. Tweek signed a contract binding him to ME for all matters anti-underpants gnome. Whatever you have to say to him, you say in front of me too." Cartman, that damn tyrant, smirks triumphantly still holding a firm pudgy grip over my mouth. WHY? WHY DID I HAVE TO SIGN THAT STUPID CONTRACT?!

"But sir, I--"

"_But sir I," _Cartman interrupts mockingly. "No buts. Your Chosen One happens to be mine." Who does this psycho think he is? Seriously?

"Now wait just a second there--"

"Well Tweek, I suppose the creepy leprechaun doesn't wish to discuss anything with us, so we may as well be on our way."

"Okay, okay! I'll talk, I'll talk. Now if we could just get going now--"

"Wait a minute! You can't just leave us out! We're a part of this too!" Kyle exclaims.

"Yeah!" The others join in.

"Oh, for the love of Laundry, FINE! However, my patience is wearing thin as well as this night! We simply cannot afford to waste time! Now if you will please follow the twitchy young fellow this way, I'll make sure ALL of you are properly informed!"

"Good," Kyle sniffs.

Cartman rolls his eyes and mutters something Jew-related beneath his breath before giving me a shove. "Well? Come on Twitchy, we don't have all night!"

Night. That's right, my birthday has been over for a while hasn't it? Oh cruel world, why must I be denied everything I long for? Can't I just have one day of calm and relative niceness? One stinkin' day?!

I swallow my resentment and self pity and join the departing group out the door into the night. We don't notice the manager of the Laundromat finally crawl out from under the front desk, and we also don't notice the two small black figures emerge from the empty washing machine next to mine, the one Kyle hadn't gotten to yet, and join him.

"Well, well, well, it looks like we've found Him."

"Indeed. Who would have thought that that snivelly, twitchy freak would be the Chosen One?"

"Whatever, none of that matters now. We don't pick and choose who the Seer deems important."

"You're right. We'll have to contact the Order now won't we?"

"Yes. The Heads will be most pleased with the news"

"Definitely. Ha, and you'd think they would listen to the warning."

"What's it matter. _They've_ fallen for the trap. The boy is ours now!"

"You're right. He _is_ ours."

"Humanity has finally met its match."

"It's only a matter of time…"

The three figures snicker and disappear into the night, making sure to close up shop. Twenty five years of being open 24/7 for 365 days had finally served it's purpose, and the collaborators would soon be on the next departing train of the notorious Trans-Styx Underworld Railway, thundering off in a flash of steel and flames into the center of the Earth and on towards Headquarters.

As I walk out into the cold January night, I feel an overwhelming sense of dread overcome me. My birthday is over. And now, as I approach the familiar building of Tweak's Coffee, I know that when this meeting is said and done, my life will be over as well. Or at least might as well be. Yes, this night marks the beginning of the end and it's only a matter of time until I find out what end that exactly is. I can only pray it's not got anything to do with me and that I wake up from this nightmare intact.

**To Be Continued...**

* * *

**End Note:**

**To review, or not to review, that is NOT the question. For review you will, because you love this story and simply MUST express the joy and excitement it brings your weary bones after suffering a long duration of no-update limbo. And because you should.**

**PS- If you're like KC and don't know what a tube sock is, they are socks that go up past your ankles in a tube-like formation. Primary examples: soccer socks, baseball socks, and the ones probably lurking in your mom and dad's drawers that're really awkward with sandals. Yes. Those ones. Now as to their significance...well, time shall tell. Actually, no that's my job. I shall tell. In time. Possibly after you finish reading this meaningless drawl and REVIEW.**


	9. For the Love of Laundry

**AN: All I have to say is READ. Read, all the while making sure to cherish the fact that I just totally UPDATED. But be warned now: this chapter is waay girthier than my usual chapters and absolutely ridiculous (LOL). But this is what I call the turning point, therefore, many things shall be explained. Thanks as always to my reviewers and KC the thuper amazing beta reader of this here story! You guys make me so happy!! So go on! Read and tell me what you think!!! :D**

**-uncmeister**

* * *

**Phase 9: For the Love of Laundry**

**  
Craig**

I'm going to kill him.

I'm so going to kill him.

I'm going to kill him, then resurrect him, and kill him all over again. If it works for Kenny surely it can work for Kyle.

Who the fuck does he think he is, with that "ooh look at me! I'm super Jew! I'm here to save the world and Tweek too 'cause I'm the next freakin' messiah" bullshit? I'M the best friend here! Shouldn't I be the one doing the rescuing and make sure Tweek's okay?!

"Dude, can you chill out with the death glare and walk already? We're here," says Token from beside me, pointing at the looming building ahead. It's during circumstances like these when I hold true to the belief that Token is a supreme douche.

"Whatever," I mutter, stepping forward and flipping Token off in one fluid motion. Tweak's Coffee stands before us in the darkness, it's 'Closed' sign flickering and blinking in the window with a big frowny face next to it. I watch as Tweek jerkily digs through his pajama pants pocket and shakily pulls out a ring busy with a bunch of different glittering keys and a blue and white soccer ball keychain. It's the keychain that I notice the most though. Because I didn't know Tweek liked soccer.

Does he? I always figured Tweek wasn't much of a sports person. With all the injuries and "near death" experiences (because God knows you could break your neck headbutting the ball, or die from a cleat to the chin), it just never seemed like his thing. Are those keys Tweek's personal set or are they just borrowed? Maybe it's his dad's personal set and HE likes soccer. I scowl at the idea of not knowing. If I'm his best friend, I should know EVERYTHING about him right? Like his hobbies besides being a spazzy idiot.

I scratch at my blue hat and my scowl reaches new depths when I realize I really don't know _anything _about him. He's just my friend at school who has jacked up hair, the personality of a hamster wired to an electrical outlet, an obsession with coffee that beats the entire populations of Seattle and Washington DC no questions asked, and no real talent for anything. Furthermore, he also happens to be torturous to sit next to in class, previously wet his pants when he got over excited (in fact, he still does on occasion), has a tendency t o freak out over EVERYTHING, screams WAY too much, has the worst twitch I've ever seen in my life, AND he's a complete menace to the concept of 'peace and quiet.' In short, he's completely crazy.

But then, who's crazier? Tweek for being Tweek, or me for accepting Tweek's 'Tweekiness' if you will?

Nope. Wrong.

It's still Tweek you asshole.

I bite back a groan and glare at the stars dotting the night sky like bits and pieces of chalk. Obviously I have some more work to do and I absolutely _hate_ that fact.

"Yeah. You guys have a lot of explaining to do," Stan mutters grumpily, marching past me in a parade of blue rocket ship pajamas and jacket. Of course, I won't comment on his fashion. But then I notice the fuzzy blue slippers, and a snort accidentally slips out. Stan throws a mean-looking glare over my way and gives a little 'harumph' of a pout, but I just sneer and look away. Fucking Stan. Fucking God damn Kyle. This is all their fault. Everything would have been fine if they didn't stick their noses into it like always! You'd think they'd just screw off every once in a while, but nooo, they just have to be the center of attention. Fucking dicks. And who wears slippers like that out in public anyways?!

Stanley Marsh, that's who.

Urgh. I've been a brooding mess all night. For one, Tweek's an idiot. To be stupid enough to agree to a contract with Cartman is just bullshit. You'd think he'd at least have half a brain. But no, he's such an IDIOT he'd probably sign whatever quarter of a brain cell he has left and his pitiful excuse for a spine for that matter off to the fucking Tub-O-Lard too.

And did I mention I was pissed?

Yeah. That too.

And it's all Tweek's fault. Of this I'm sure.

I glance up at my current object of hatred and watch as he nervously jabs a coppery looking key in the lock and turns it with another sharp jerk. A hesitant pause and then he turns the knob and swings the door wide open, being sure to gingerly stick his head inside to have a little look before flipping on a light switch. Once the establishment has been deemed safe by said spaz, we pile in.

There's a booth large enough for most of our group in the far left corner of the coffee shop. Me, Clyde, Token, Stan and Kyle sit down on the green rubbery substance or whatever it is that usually covers cheap seat cushions in booths, while Tweek, Cartman and the gnome drag some nearby chairs to join the late night rendezvous.

Oh God. The GNOME.

I still can't believe they fucking exist. Like. It, the gnome, is really… real. And really British. Aside from its cultural background, the fact that has me up in knots is the fact that Tweek was fucking RIGHT. And all those times I laughed at him! The jokes we always made, Token and me! The degrading drawings! Oh that's right. I feel like a complete dick now. But that doesn't matter right now.

Tonight is a night I will NEVER. EVER. FORGET.

Never in my life had I ever been as scared as I was when we crawled into the 24/7 Laundromat shortly around three A.M. The night had played out something like this: the first half was spent with weak participation in party activities such as Pin the Mustache on the Communist (Cartman was the most enthusiastic), a pitiful attempt at 'Happy Birthday' that would have a deaf person cringing in distaste (Cartman, however, sang with a soulful tenor that had all of our cheeks burning with embarrassment), and futile attempts of nibbling at the suddenly unappealing birthday cake. And yes, you guessed it, fatass also was the most ravenous of all of us and gorged himself like the disgusting pig he is. Frosting had never looked so… _wrong_ until I saw it smeared all over Cartman's face.

But after the presents had been opened (that fatass son of a BITCH had also proven to have the greatest present yet--an automated coffee machine signed by the creator of Harbucks--beating my present of a pair of Godzilla boxer briefs WITH FLAMES by a fatass induced landslide) and the last birthday candle blown out (this actually took a lot of time because some douche bag bought those stupid sparking candles that relight after you blow them out - FYI to whatever ass invented them, THEY AREN'T FUNNY) fatass hit us with the task of coming up with a plan.

And a plan we came up with. Well, fatass monopolized that too, but it was _quite_ a plan.

Since the… 'gnomes' involved had a heinous desire for underpants, we were to go to the one place they would undoubtedly visit and attempt to capture one hostage to gain information. The timing, the location both had to be perfect, and the 24/7 Laundromat run by some shady looking ex-commie was the place of interest. Tweek had mentioned in an almost unintelligible screech that the gnomes tended to come out at three in the morning, and so, that was the time we would begin the hunt. But, Tweek being Tweek, had objected violently to the idea, shattering a mug and managing to break the leg off the chair in which he had been sitting in when he accidentally tipped back too far in the throes a violent hissy fit.

Evidently three A.M. is also the Witching Hour and to hunt for gnomes, who as supernatural beings are empowered by this 'witching hour', on their own turf is absolute suicide. We could be chopped up into little bits and turned into a fine spaghetti sauce, or even worse, _we _could be taken hostage instead and killed for ransom.

My only question was, why spaghetti sauce? Why not hamburger patties or sirloin steaks? Or maybe it didn't matter what we were turned into as long as we were dead. Anyways, Cartman whipped out his handy dandy contract to shove into Tweek's horrified face and declared that we would be going to the Laundromat at three A.M., and if Tweek didn't behave, HE'D be the bait.

He didn't behave, and we now had our bait.

It was dangerous and sexy and awesome, running around only in our pajamas in the frosty Colorado air after sneaking out of the house. I'd never felt so free in my life, but what gave me the greatest high was the feeling of being a part of something big that the parents couldn't do anything about, knowing that for once MOM AND DAD would be the ones relying on US. That, or I felt this way because it felt like I was one of those secret agents from a James Bond movie. Luckily for us, Tweek's parents had gone to bed relatively early after the slumber party and were naturally heavy sleepers, which made sneaking out incredibly easy. Of course, being the quintessential badass I am, I chose to make one of those sheet ropes and climb down the side of Tweek's house. Bad decision. It wasn't until I was dangling a foot under Tweek's windowsill that I realized I'm afraid of heights. It wasn't pretty, and I made a clumsy descent, shivering in the cold wind, landing directly on my ass in the wet snow. I know. I'll never get my own Pussy Galore at this rate or even a spot as Sean Connery's stunt double's stunt double.

After the Mistake, and after the ridiculing laughter that followed, we took off into the night, soaked pants and all. The owner of the Laundromat was one of those old dudes that doesn't ask and doesn't care. Maybe he learned that in one of his adventures as a Russian spy, or maybe the wisdom just came with age. It didn't matter. He let us in without a question asked and left shortly after to go have a smoke – and never came back. We were the only customers there, and we quickly set up into position. Cartman had Duct tape and I the net, and everyone else carried tube socks, which Cartman reasoned was to gnomes as garlic was to vampires. With Tweek stationed in a random dryer and the rest of us hiding behind or in anything nearby, we were prepared for something none of us were really expecting to happen. Cartman and Tweek were the only two who really looked like they truly thought a garden gnome was _actually _going to show up primed and ready for an assault on mankind's dresser drawers.

But then, after maybe 10 minutes of waiting, out of nowhere, there was a sudden banging in the vents, moving from the back end of the room, noisily continuing to the center until with a couple more loud bangs, a figure fell from an air vent. A small figure; a _tiny_ figure; a gnome-like figure. I was frozen with terror and disbelief. All I could see were the bright red hat, glinting like a blood covered blade in the cheap fluorescent light, and the fearsome bone-white beard. The net was suddenly like a ton of bricks weighing me down, and despite Cartman's persistent gesturing and silently screams for me to go, I couldn't bring myself to come out from behind the side of the laundry machine at which I was stationed. I was that scared.

And that's when it happened. The door to the Laundromat flew open, and there were the terrified screams that startled me into I moved too fast and the net flew out of my hands, missing the frightened creature and sending me crashing to the floor with a loud cry. Clyde and Token jumped from their hiding places, Token actually managing to stay on his feet, while Clyde just ended up colliding into one of the intruders who happened to be one very startled Stan, sending both of them spiraling in a death lock straight into a nearby washing machine, in the meantime knocking over a _huge _box of opened powdered detergent.

The detergent hit the air like a smoke bomb and immediately clouded the room in a Mountain Rain scented haze. You couldn't see anything but by some means me and Token managed to grab a laundry basket and throw it on top of the, by now, flabbergasted gnome, and frantically clambered on top of it. By the time the detergent had settled, we found ourselves in a new world, terrified, emotionally shot and covered head to toe in powdered soap. Kyle, who had come in with Stan for some reason unknown to me, had stood by and watched in horror as the scene unfolded and found his way over to the petrified Cartman and demanded to know what the FUCK was going on. When fatass didn't relent, (we had taken an oath to secrecy earlier), Kyle sucker punched him right in the nose. I shouted at him to find Tweek, because none of us could think clearly enough to remember in which dryer we had hidden him. God knows what could have happened if we didn't find him. With a gnome already fighting against its plastic cage beneath our asses, we knew that Tweek really WAS in danger and had to be rescued.

But I couldn't do it. I was stuck watching desperately after Kyle as he violently went through each and every dryer, slamming each metal door in his wake, until finally, he found the one with Tweek in it. I watched him pull Tweek out of the dryer as if in slow motion, and Tweek, with tears streaming from his terrified eyes and down his cheeks, throw his arms around Kyle and pull him close in a tight hug. I felt sick to my stomach with something I'd never felt before. I wanted to kick, scream, and just bang my fists on anything nearby, but I couldn't do any of that either. All I could do was watch and stare from a distance as _my_ best friend embraced who was now my new personal enemy.

And even after we released what we came to know as a friendly gnome, a messenger seeking to warn us of an invasion coming on the horizon, and after we had set out on a different path with three new members to our little band, all I could see was Tweek's face and remember that I couldn't be there for him _all because of that fucking Jew. _And that stupid gnome too, but KYLE was the one all over Tweek, not the midget.

I scowl again at Kyle, smooth a stray swatch of charcoal hair back underneath my hat, and settle into the ongoing conversation.

God. I fucking hate my life.

* * *

**  
Tweek**

"Honestly. No one understands the fundamentals of underwear. No one respects them and that just makes everything all the easier." Alfred grumbles, pinching the bridge of his shapely nose with a shake of his head.

Oh God, this is ridiculous! I can't stand it anymore! My nerves are on FIRE and if I have to wait for any longer I'm gonna go nuclear physics and EXPLODE!

We've been sitting around here talking quietly amongst ourselves for what feels like FOREVER (equivalent to about 10 minutes), attempting to wrap our minds around just what this threat means. But still, no answers.

This is mostly due to the fact that I'm (unfortunately) surrounded by idiots who can't understand what the words 'danger' or 'death threat' mean, let alone decipher the meanings of 'decaffeinated' or 'caffeinated.' Of course, I have no problem grasping the absolute SHIT we're in. I'm horrendously good at that. But these people--_these people _are about as dense as a Republican talk show host. Yes, I know, it's THAT bad!

Cartman -- who's been playing good cop/bad cop with the cultured gnome leader who we've come to know as Alfred Knickerbocker, a previous council member of some creepy gnome national congress gone rebel -- raises a brow and sneers. "And just what is THAT supposed to mean?"

"Children these days. What _will _you do with them?" Alfred raises a tiny hand to shrewdly readjust his pointy red hat with an indignant sniff.

"AY! YOU BETTER START TALKING OR I'M GONNA SIT ON YOU!" This is the 'Bad Cop' speaking. Next he'll be offering him some sugar cubes for his breakfast tea in that sickeningly sweet voice of his. Jesus, I get chills just thinking about it!

"And we certainly wouldn't want that, now would we?" Alfred retorts briskly fixing Cartman with a snooty glare. "Lord knows you'd crush me to bits with your hulking mass. Have you ever considered some form of exercise? I personally believe yoga, or better yet, _Pilates _would be an interesting avenue to pursue for one of such mighty girth as yourself."

Oooh. Now THAT'S a burn.

Before I can question my use of the phrase, (really, who came up with that?), Kyle erupts with laughter as Cartman's face steeps into a troubling shade of puce, which is simultaneously scaring me shitless. "Cartman doing _Pilates? _Oh my God! I think I like this guy!" Kyle manages to choke out over his own moronic snickering.

"SHUT YOUR GOD DAMN JEW MOUTH KYLE!" Fatass yells fuming and red with embarrassment; but this just makes Kyle laugh even harder. When it looks like Kyle isn't going to stop anytime soon, Cartman turns on Alfred with a shift of his 'mighty girth'. God. Even I have to admit that's a good one. Not that I know much about comebacks--I'm not one for stopping crowds with my amazingly witty remarks. I prefer biting my tongue or sputtering complete nonsense in a freak out. It mostly gets people to leave me alone. Mostly.

"YOU!" Cartman rumbles, pointing at Alfred accusingly. With his brown hair suffering terribly from something called 'hat hair' and a fearsome look on his face as he growls (yes, GROWLS), Cartman looks like some huge horrible monstrosity ready to ravage Tokyo. By now, I'm just waiting for him to throw his head back with a roar, and shred his clothes right here so he can go rampage through the streets, smashing cars and punching anyone unlucky enough to be caught in his wake like the freaking Hulk.

I give a little squeak at the thought and shrink as far away from him as possible because God knows he _had _to sit by me and probably _would _go Hulk if you made him mad enough. But then again, I wouldn't know. I try to stay AWAY from danger, so I've never stuck around long enough to see Cartman go Mega Fatass. Following this theory, one can also come to the conclusion that I absolutely dread being stuck next to fatass in the one place that's supposed to be my safe haven.

There's no escaping him!

I guess in Cartman's warped mind, that stupid contract not only binds me to him in terms of partnership, but also physically. That's right, we're as good as two peas in a pod, except it's more like one pea is some sick, twisted, self-centered egomaniac holding the other one hostage. I don't know, but I hate being so close to Fatass. It's _dangerous! _Like I said before, there's the Hulk theory but not only that, I also still truly believe he is a vortex and at some point today I'm going to be sucked up and spat out in some other dimension. And with my luck, I'm DEFINITELY not going to end up in Java sipping iced coconut milk coffee straight from a coconut shell with one of those fruity little umbrella thingies for decoration. OH GOD! I'd probably end up in the middle of a volcano and be incinerated like Golem from Lord of the Rings or find myself on some despicable land filled completely with millions of miniature Ryan Seacrests! SWEET JESUS! THERE'S NO WAY I'D SURVIVE!

While I'm busy having yet another one of my episodes, the thought dawns on me that Cartman really _is_ a vortex. Maybe not an actual vortex-vortex but at least a metaphorical one. And I've _already _been sucked in, completely unwillingly I might as well add, by his smart talk and uncanny powers of persuasion! Oh yes. He's a vortex. A vortex of complete and utter bullshit. Oh God and I'm _stuck with him! _This is bad! No, this is worse than just 'bad', this is like, HORRIBLE!!

I grapple with the coffee cup with my family's brand name gleaming on it, and sip frantically at the warm depths. I sigh in relief as I feel the comforting burn travel down my throat and through the rest of me, soothing me from the inside out. A veil of tranquility smoothes over my jittery nerves and I close my eyes, breathing deeply. Okay. I'm good now.

"Yes. Me." The possibly only good gnome in the entire world replies snippily from atop his highchair (a normal seat just wouldn't cut it for him since well, he _is _on the short side), "Now if you're done with your little tirade, may I please tell you what I know?" A glare. "Splendid. Now let me explain myself." The old gnome smiles, the corners of his eyes crinkling in an obscenely human way. He reminds me of a grandfather. I wouldn't really know since both of my grandfathers died before I was born, but there's something that's strikes me as very grandfatherly in his ways. Maybe it's because he's old, small, and kind of cute in an elderly sense, or maybe it's just the wisdom he seems to have.

Actually, yeah, I think that's all of it--but he's still creepy.

Alfred 'ahems,' smoothing out the napkin in front of him, and asks politely for some sugar cubes for his tea. Cartman, as predicted, obliges but with packets (what is it with the British and sugar cubes?), and asks the gnome to, "Please, start from the beginning."

"Well, it's certainly about time you wiped that smug look on your face. And I needed to start from the beginning anyways, so from the beginning it is." The weary old gnome says chidingly, wagging a lemon wedge in fatass' direction before giving it a curt squeeze into his tea.

There's an uncomfortable shift in the air as the other boys fix themselves into more comfortable positions. It's going to be a long story. I myself lean forward in my seat and settle my chin on top of my open palms. I can already feel the first spear of fear settle itself into my gut and I swallow nervously. From the beginning then. Let's find out just what horrendous things this gnome has to say and pray it's nothing TOO bad. What? I'm an optimist at heart. Even with a… a death threat still fresh on the mind, maybe, MAYBE, it won't be so bad! I hope…

"As I have said before, I am indeed currently a member of the Tube Sock Industry." Alfred begins, grimacing at the words 'tube sock.' "Not proud though. It's the most obscene job I've ever had, especially compared to the cushy spot I had in the Underpants Industry. Oh! If my associates found out! I'd be the laughing stock of the entire nation!

"But anyways, it was a sacrifice that had to be made. For my own safety to be precise. I'll begin by saying that I was a member of the Council, the Prominent Patron in fact. The Council was the government head of the Gnome Province in Hell, a sort of national congress if you will. But all of that's changed now. You see children, the world is a dark, dangerous place filled with all sorts of characters. I believe it all started sometime in Rinse, about last April for you humans. It seems His Dark Majesty had found new company to keep and once again, that company was more interested in world domination than the Devil's neglected heart. He's a despicable character from what I hear, a foreigner as well. I've never met him before, or even seen him, and I don't know his name either, but they say he fell from the sky right into Satan's tomato garden and the two immediately hit it off from the start. But what made him so powerful is that somehow, someway, he had managed to steal the Golden Briefs right off the bare butt of God. No one knows how he managed to steal them, since the Golden Briefs reside on a sacred statue of His Holiness in the Kingdom of Heaven, but he has them."

"Just what are these Golden Briefs?" Stan asks from across the small booth we're sitting at, a mild curiosity flaring in his corn blue eyes.

"Yeah! Yeah!" the other's echo eagerly, while ripping open the sugar packets in the center of the table and pouring them zealously into their mugs.

Alfred smiles dreamily and takes a small, elegant sip from his tea cup. "Why, they're the first pair of underpants ever created, woven with sun rays and angels' hair! They're a part of the most archaic of Gnome mythical traditions. Up until now, I had never believed in them since I've never been to Heaven before to actually witness them in their full glory. As you know, only Mormons and angels get in, not us gnomes with our sinful merchant ways. Story goes, 'He who owns the Golden Briefs, has power over all under garments, and subsequently us gnomes.' Of course, what I believed was an urban myth turned out to be true, and most of the gnome civilization has already submitted to the Tyrant's will."

"Wait, what? How does he control you too?" Kyle inquires, straightening up in his seat.

"As it happens, we gnomes both understand and respect the duties of every bloomer, panty and brief. Being worn by all sorts of vile creatures is a tough job to say the least, and you never know what type of character you're going to be stuck with! Disgusting really, some of those people. But we understand that, and it is for _that reason _why we have control over their fates. Because they allow us to harness their power, their gift. Do you follow?" Alfred raises a bushy white brow, gesturing with his teaspoon.

"No. Not at all," says Craig, who's lazily collapsed into his own arms across the table. The sheer bluntness of his tone could slice through even the most awkward of all awkward silences. But then again, that's Craig in a nutshell for you.

"Well then, allow me to clarify. Firstly, underpants are fundamentally important. Without them, there is no order, there is no class. Think cavemen my friends. It was not only agriculture and cities and writing that made the first humans civilized! It was in their undergarments as well! For when Adam and Eve felt shame for their nudity, what did they reach for? Oh yes, that's most certainly right! The nearest pair of Fruit of the Loom tightie whities, albeit an archaic version, but a pair of underpants none the less! The first pair of underwear woven for humankind in fact. You see, the use of underwear marks the transition from barbarity to civilization! Without their presence in a society, chaos and mayhem are sure to ensue! They are a powerful necessity to life but they have only allowed the true breadth of their power to be harnessed by us underpants gnomes. Humans just use them, soil them and get rid of them like some pair of disgusting tube socks. We respect them, therefore we handle their power. And because we are their humble servants, we are also at He who handles the Golden Ones service."

"Just what is their power though? Aren't they just stuff you wear underneath your pants?" Stan asks, still looking very muddled and confused. "I mean, are they really _that_ important?"

"WHAT? NO! For the Love of Laundry and all that is Downy, tell me you did not speak such a thing!" Alfred gasps, a hand fluttering over his heart, "Oh the disrespect! The shame! Listen, you hooligans, and listen well! Not only are they to be worn over your most private of parts, but they are also the most universal necessity EVER! Do you even grasp how good of a trade item they are?! Do you?! They're the perfect stock item! Everyone wears them! The fortunes that lie in the Underpants Business outweigh even the Pants Industry for Laundry's Sake! Of _course _they're bloody important!" he cries, throwing his tiny hands this way and that in a terrifyingly dramatic showcase. "Oh, the indignity! The _indignity_!"

"SWEET JESUS!" I gasp, twitching violently at the gnome's fit of hardened, relentless rage.

"Oh," Kyle and a few others murmur dumbly. Obviously they weren't expecting such an emotional response. I give a private shudder and try to hold my coffee in. A gnome with emotions. The thought makes me feel queasy, but God, the fact that Stan could just drop insults like that in front of him doesn't help at all! Jesus Christ, I mean, he's STILL a gnome! They're godless killing machines! He could attack or rip out someone's eyes if provoked! LIKE MINE! I'm the one closest to him! Honestly, haven't these people heard of thinking before speaking?!

"Now, _as I was saying_, the Tyrant Lover as I enjoy calling him, came into power over the Gnome Province." Alfred says after recovering somewhat from his outburst. "Satan apparently thought that us gnomes could use some extra help in governing since we had been in a slight economic drawback at the time, and apparently lover boy was feeling a bit malnourished from his ravenous thirst for power." He pauses for another sip of tea. "It wasn't so bad at first. He promised change, more laundry detergent per household, better commandment etcetera, etcetera. He was even willing to compromise with the Superior Gnome and work with the Council, though I'd never seen or met him. He's a bit of a recluse with an inclination to taking to the shadows. Anyways, there was some distrust amongst the members when Mr. Tyrannical decided to start to stepping on the Council's tiny toes.

"It was nothing major at first, just acting in our place without our consultation on minor things, or ignoring our opinions on certain unimportant matters like parking meter violations. But then it started becoming more and more and more. Now, we hadn't any say in the keeping of the laws, taxes, politics and international communications; our decisions and voices went completely unheard. Any actions we made were overrode by the bastard and soon we were being picked off one by one. Treason for good ol' Watson of District Management; too short to meet 'regulation' for Patrice of Health Regulations - silly stuff like that. The next thing we knew, we were in the midst of a complete governmental breakdown! Corruption, economic depression, increasing homeless and decreasing jobs, public outrage - we had it all. The worst came when business stockholders began withdrawing their loans from the underwear stocks like madmen. The UB is our bread and butter, and when that started to fail, all Hell broke loose or at least finally came in. As far as I was concerned, I needed to save myself from both the failing economy and the Tyrant's demonic cronies who were arriving in our clean province in droves and so, switched to the Tube Sock Industry for salvation." Alfred pauses again to look around at our blank (for me, horrified) expressions.

"Dude…" someone manages to say, while the rest of us just look at each other with similar expressions, expressions that say, 'What the hell have we gotten ourselves into?'.

"Dude indeed. I know it's a lot to take in for ones so young, but I fear that's not the end of it." Alfred says in a relatively calm voice, and then after yet another sip of tea, he directs his attention to me. "But before I continue, Tweek, some more of that brilliant coffee please? Your buddies look ready to keel over in their empty mugs, and I still have so much more to tell."

"HUH?! ARGH, UH R-RIGHT!" I accidentally screech, bolting upright in my seat. In my hurry (because God knows, I don't want to get him angry again!), I not so carefully inch around fatass and scramble behind the counter, grabbing the huge pot of still fresh coffee and running it over to the table.

"Ah, thank you Tweek." Alfred smiles. "What a kind child." He reaches a hand and pats me on the head as I shakily pour the drinks.

"You're -NGH- w-welcome," I sputter with another violent shudder. I'm still trying to get used to the idea of a friendly gnome but the fact that it's--I MEAN HE'S--touching me still creeps the shit out of me. And all this talk of underpants and tyrants and lovers has got me feeling totally freaked out. I mean, JESUS CHRIST! This is worse than I could have EVER imagined! And I have a very twisted imagination! I would know! I watch the nightly news every night! Besides the nightmares of seeing today's pop culture, these are the sorts of things that keep me up all night long from just watching a half hour of the daily reports!

Alfred strokes and plays with his pearly white beard for a bit as he watches us load our coffee once again with questionable amounts of cream and sugar. Once he's satisfied with the renewed liveliness in our stares, he continues.

"Now where was I? Oh yes, so Satan's new lover rose to power over the Gnome province and I fled for safety. Well, the Tyrant still had much more to do than overthrow the Gnome Council. In fact, now it's not only the Gnome Province, but the entire Underworld that is now currently in a state of violent revolution thanks to Mr. I-have-to-be-seriously-compensating-for-something here. You see, during the transition, there were many young Gnome citizens who were crying out for revolution and were answered, but by the Tyrant Lover instead of us elders. And you thought your American teenagers were bad. Anyways, he's somehow managed to convince the young Gnome revolutionaries that it wasn't their fault that the Gnome State was in a state of chaos, but that it was because of you humans."

"WHAT?! How is it our fault?!" Kyle exclaims in outrage, while the rest of us cough and hack on our coffee. I doubt any of us were expecting THAT one.

"Are you fucking serious? US? That's so weak!"

"Yeah dude! That's fucking lame." Cartman slides into the conversation, looking at Clyde and Token. "Isn't it lame you gahs? I think it is," he adds, crossing his arms smugly across his chest.

"GAH! OH JESUS! I-IS IT -NGH- REALLY OUR FAULT?!" I shriek, fingers diving into my hair to anxiously twist and pull at it. I send a panicked look at Alfred but he clucks his tongue and once again holds up both of his hands in a calming way.

"Please, control your language. Allow me to explain. As you now know, we gnomes have a deep respect for underpants. In fact, our civilization thrives on their wellbeing. This mischievous character has somehow smooth-talked the gnome guerillas into believing that it's really the _human's_ fault that all of this is happening--that we have essentially been cursed by the underpants whom we are supposed to be protecting because we've let the humans continue to mistreat them without reprimand. It's a backwards sort of thinking, but so it goes. He's convinced an army of Gnome revolutionaries called 'The Young Gnomes' that you humans are no longer fitting of undergarments, that you have taken them for granted for far too long and shall now pay. Considering our natural respect for the standard pair of white briefs, it's blasphemy on your part and has thousands of gnomes furious and blood thirsty. It'd be akin to a gnome fornicating on the statue of Jesus. But this alone couldn't convince an entire nation of gnomes to turn against humanity. Oh, this new character is truly conniving with his terrifyingly clever wit. You play a large role in this as well Tweek." Alfred adds from over his teacup, his coal black eyes flicking over towards me.

I choke on my coffee mid-slurp at the sound of my name, and throw him an uneasy look. "M-me?" I ask between coughs, pointing to myself shakily. I quickly remember the two words that I've absolutely refused to even _think_ about since the Laundromat: _'Chosen One.' _The words echo through my mind like a curse and with one glance at Alfred's face, any hopes for that really being gnomish for 'He who spazzes and is completely unimportant' immediately shrivel up and die like that window garden I planted back in Kindergarten after enduring a week of being drowned in Harbuck's Classic. (That was before I learned most living creatures didn't depend on coffee for liquids, but rather water and other sugary concoctions. Who knew?)

"Yes. You see Tweek, you're somewhat of a hero to the Gnome race. Down there you're more than just an overly paranoid brat with an incredibly loud mouth and more jitter than any bug could ever dream of mustering. You're the Savior! The Chosen One! The Messiah of the Gnomes! Posters of you line the street corners, key chains proclaiming your Holy name dangle from every set of house keys!"

At this point, he pulls out a key chain from his pocket proclaiming 'I HEART TWEEK' and another that simply says 'GAH! OH JESUS!', "Why, there's even a festival in your honor! But this clever figure used the evidence that you were being mistreated for your works of prophecy by the rest of humanity as an instigator for a full scale invasion of the Human World! Once the gnome civilization found out humans were disgracing their Messiah, well, that was the load that broke the washer machine's rinse cycle. And because the Gnome Province is one of the major epicenters that maintains the wellbeing and peace of the rest of the Underworld, when it fell, disorder, chaos and revolution leaked to the rest of Hell. If you thought Hell was bad on its own, you don't even want to SEE it now," Alfred mutters, rubbing his mighty forehead tiredly.

"Oh God, Kenny!" Stan exclaims worriedly, biting his nails. "He got electrocuted in the shower this morning!" Oh. That's right. I didn't really notice it before, but now I realize he really IS gone. My mind was still on the key chains.

"Dude! You're right! He's probably down there right now!" Kyle says, looking at his best friend. A look of excitement flits across his face and he grins, "Hey! He should be able to tell us if what's going on down there is true!"

"Oh yeah! He could couldn't he! Then we could--"

"W-WAIT A MINUTE!" I shout, disrupting whatever conversation was about to begin. "ARE YOU SAYING _I'M _THE CHOSEN? AND ALL OF _THIS," _I gesture wildly in front of me with my hands, "IS _MY_ FAULT?!"

ARGH! I SHOULD HAVE EXPECTED THIS!! The Underworld collapses into chaos and it's ALL MY FAULT!! AND WHAT'S WITH THIS MESSIAH BULLSHIT?! He can't be serious! Key chains? Posters? A FESTIVAL?! OH GOD! IT'S PROBABLY NOT EVEN A NORMAL ONE, JUST SOME SORT OF SICK GNOME CULT THING WITH HUMAN SACRIFICES AND COUNTRY MUSIC!! _I HATE COUNTRY MUSIC!! _

I clutch at my head like it's going to explode into tiny bits and pieces. "OH JESUS!"

"No, no! Not at all! Well, I mean you _are_ the Chosen One, but it's not _your _fault this has happened! You're just another victim my dear friend," Alfred says soothingly. I look at him like _he's_ the crazy one but slowly remove my hands from my temples, a sign for him to explain.

"Allow me to explain. You see, before _He_ took over and created the Order, the Commanding Chief of Council, a Mr. Salazar Bloomingdale discovered his true intentions. As I've said, this figure's sole interest is total world domination. Not only does he want control of the Mortal Realm, but he also wants full control over the Underworld, Heaven, and even the Outer Provinces of the Universe, better known to you folk as 'outer space.' By commanding a mass invasion of Earth and confiscating the underpants in a method known primarily as 'Cleansing', he's gaining the largest inventory of underpants the Universe has ever seen. Underpants are already one of the most necessary items ever. Now imagine owning _every single pair. _The sheer POWER you would have! People all over the world would be ready to bend over backwards in degradation and hand over their wallets just for a single pair! Not only that, but there are huge shortages of underpants in the Outer Provinces and other third world countries, making huge business opportunities in those places as well! Not only will he be the richest man in the World, he'll also be the single most powerful! He'll have the three worlds and their provinces on their knees, begging at his well shined shoes for mercy and a used pair of Buzz Lightyear briefs for their little boys. And that's just the beginning! Without any underpants in your world, civilization will collapse, making a full scale invasion a cinch! Don't you understand? The gnomes are just the _beginning_! There's already an army of demons being trained for a siege! And once the gnomes have leveled the playing field, it will be the demons that complete the invasion! Then, He can ascend to his throne on Earth and begin the Apocalypse and throw Satan AND God out of the picture! Do you see now? Do you understand the monumental, dare I say it, SHIT we're in? When I found out that this nonsense was going on, I had to find you and tell you what was going on! As the Prominent Patron of the Council, I had to seek you out. Only you can restore order and save us!"

Okay. That is NOT what I wanted to hear! None of this is what I wanted to hear! My chest is closing up on itself and it feels like I can't breathe. This is what I get for being a freaking optimist! No, this is what I get for even EXISTING!! ACK! I KNEW I SHOULDN'T HAVE BEEN BORN! I KNEW IT!!

"But why ME? WHY NOW? ! Why hasn't S-Satan done anything to stop this -GAH- madness?!" I shriek in terror. My brain is pounding in my head, and every fiber of my being is drumming out the same message: THIS ISN'T HAPPENING! THIS CAN'T POSSIBLY BE HAPPENING!

"Like I said, this lover is a tricky one," says Alfred, toying with his beard again which evidently is a habit of his. "He's convinced Satan that he's been packing on the pounds, so now Satan spends his nights and days devoted to exercise, dieting and watching Life Time Real Women. It's a truly heinous plot."

I blink and let the new information slowly seep into my already disheveled brain. D-dieting? Exercise? LIFE TIME REAL WOMEN?!

"NO! NOT LIFE TIME REAL WOMEN!," I wail to the heavens, my mouth plummeting into an o-like formation. "HE'LL BE TRAPPED ON THE COUCH FOR MONTHS!! OH GOD! OH GOD! WE'RE DEAD! _I__'__M_ DEAD! DEAD, DEAD, DEAD, DEAD, DEAD!!!" My mind is like a milkshake with the blender set on puree and I think I'm going to faint. This can't be true! I refuse to believe this is happening!! But if Satan really is trapped in an endless cycle of dieting, running on a treadmill, and watching 'Sleeping with the Enemy' on the sofa with a tub of ice cream, and there's no one else who can save us except--except ME, then….then…ARGH! I CAN'T EVEN COMPREHEND THIS! I mean, it CAN'T be me! I can't save the world! There's obviously been some sort of horrible mistake!

"You can't be serious! Couldn't we just live without them?! I mean there's always diapers, or pull-ups or you could just go commando!" Kyle interjects, while Stan and Token try to calm down a hysterical Clyde. ("I DON'T WANNA DIEEEEE!!!") "There's no way our entire civilization could collapse without underpants! Right?!"

"Ah, but diapers are still a variation of underpants as well are pull-ups," Alfred points out gravely. "And have you seen how well going without them has worked out for Britney Spears or any other trashy Hollywood celebrity? Really, get some dignity. Besides, without them, the global stock market would be completely obliterated. Either way, you'd still have devastation at a global scale."

"ARGH! God dammit he's -NGH- right! But why them? Why now? What have we d-done to deserve this?!?" I screech, pulling at my hair and thrashing violently around in my seat. This isn't fair! This can't be happening to me! IT'S TOO MUCH PRESSURE! "What have _I _done to deserve this?!"

"Oh my young friend, you have done no wrong. You're the Chosen One. You have understood the way of the Underpants and have become the pinnacle of all Gnome religious icons. It is they who shunned you and your knowledge that have done wrong! And now, it's only you who can save us and set things right!" Alfred cries. I stare at him until it feels like my eyes are going to explode. Then I blink because I DON'T need my eyeballs exploding on me on top of all this… INSANITY!

"BUT I CAN'T! I CAN'T! THAT'S LIKE, WAY, WAY, WAY TOO MUCH PRESSURE!" I shout, gesticulating like a man who's just been set on fire. "I CAN'T SAVE THE WORLD! I CAN'T! ALL I DO IS MESS THINGS UP! THERE'S NO WAY I CAN! YOU'RE -ARGH- C-CRAZY!"

"But you can! For not only are you the Chosen One, but you also have the Rosen Panties of Fortitude as well!" Alfred cries emphatically.

"WHAT?!" I ask, unclenching my hands from my hair and throwing my head back in exasperation. Dear God, what is he talking about NOW?! First Messiah, then key chains and pagan festivals, now 'Rosen Panties of Fortitude'?! This CAN'T be happening!

"Didn't you find a pair of pink Hello Kitty panties earlier today?" Alfred inquires, with something like hope gleaming in his beady little eyes. Hello…Kitty…PANTIES? Oh for the love of GOD are you SERIOUS?!

"D-do you mean the ones I found?!" Clyde exclaims, wiping his eyes. We all whip our heads to stare in a combination of disbelief and amazement at him, and then back to Mr. Knickerbocker who nods.

"NO WAY!"

"The very same. You see, when the Golden Briefs of God were stolen, their sister, the Rosen Panties of Fortitude, immediately sought you out. It truly was a lucky find for you Clyde." Alfred says nodding solemnly to himself.

No…way.

"WHOA! SERIOUSLY?" Clyde grins, all traces of his crying gone, and he high fives Token, "DUDE! WHAT DID I TELL YOU?! MAJOR SCORE!!"

There is no way this is happening. But it is. This is what I get for living in South Park. I should have expected something like this. But for the love of God, REALLY? I can only handle so much ridiculousness every day, but damn it this is just too much! WAY TOO MUCH!

"Yes. Seriously. But you do have them don't you?" Alfred asks, looking from Clyde, to Token, to Craig, and then finally to me.

"Errr…_about that." _Clyde looks down at the table guiltily, scratching at his wavy chestnut hair. "They were stolen. We don't know what happened to them. All we have left is this letter left behind." Clyde gestures for Craig to hand Alfred the crumpled envelope with the black seal, who gingerly takes it.

After producing a pair of tiny half-moon spectacles, Alfred quickly skims the note before uttering a gasp. "Sweet Softener! Those damn fools!" He swears, shaking his fist to the tiled ceiling above us. "This is horrible! _Horrible!"_

"Alfred, just who is the Order?" Kyle asks delicately, obviously terrified by the volatile creature. He had been enlightened of the death threat on the way here and apparently has assumed command as lead interrogator.

"The Order? Ha! The Order! What a name. The Order is the name of the powerful group that has taken over the Council, headed by Mr. Power Hungry himself! You see the seal? A pair of black undergarments? That's the insignia of the Young Gnomes. The Order is just the elected superiors. What a bunch of pompous, egotistical, horrible, deplorable, fascist swine!" Alfred curses again, and brings his tiny fist to the table top. "And they're even threatening children! The very nerve!" He stops for a moment, then sinks in his highchair. If he didn't look like an old man earlier, he certainly does now. "Oh, I'm too old for this. Children, my bones are weary, and this," he tosses the letter down in weary disgust, "this makes my heart even heavier. Because I know now that I have failed you."

"No you haven't!" Everyone cries, completely forgetting about me for the time being.

"Yes. Yes children I have. But more importantly, it is you Tweek whom I have truly failed. Oh if I had only been quick enough in getting here! Perhaps if I hadn't stopped on the way at Dunkin' Donuts for one of those damn delectables then maybe I could have beaten them to the punch!"

"B-but--" Stan begins, but Alfred cuts him off.

"No! Without the Rosen Panties of Fortitude all hope is lost! Only they could successfully guide you to their partner pair and alas, they have been stolen by those damnable urchins! All is lost!" Alfred cries, throwing his hands to his face as horror fully dawns on him. "All is lost!"

"Hey now, I don't like that attitude." Token says, brow furrowing. "I thought you JUST said that only Tweek could save the world, not some pair of girly panties!"

"Yeah! If Tweek's the Chosen One shouldn't he have some capability of defying the odds? Honestly, where's your faith in him? I thought he was supposed to be your Messiah?" Kyle says defensively, pointing at him accusingly.

"B-but there is no way he can hope to defeat the Order or _Him_ without the Rosen Panties of Fortitude!" Alfred frowns, "Unless…unless we get someone from the inside to take him there personally. Yes! Yes that's it! If we could smuggle our young lad past Hades' Gates, he may be able to find the Golden Briefs and Satan himself, and then convince him he's perfect the way he is! When Satan snaps out of it and sees what's going on, he'll be able to get rid of that bastard, saving us all! Since one of the spies has obviously beaten me, we're already at an immediate disadvantage, but if we can just get you down there, perhaps with some luck and a bit of wit, we can bring an end to all of this madness before it's too late!" The old gnome smiles, clapping to himself in glee and I remember enough to shudder in disgust. "Yes! It's possible! All is not lost as long as we have our messiah!"

So it's come to this. I've been sitting here, silently dying inside as I watched in horror as these people played ping pong with my fate, and now it seems my round little sphere of fate has landed on the wrong side of the court. Again. Somewhere out there, bombs are going off and planets are exploding into a billion trillion little pieces because the world _is _coming to it's end, and it knows it. Why? Because this is where reality kicks in and I recall what it's like to be Tweek Tweak again.

"GAH! WAIT! Did you just say LUCK? I HAVE NO LUCK! I'M COMPLETELY LUCKLESS!" I practically scream, scaring the pants off of them. No, wait, yeah, that was definitely a scream. Luck? LUCK?! Have they forgotten who they're dealing with?! It's ME! TWEEK! THE UNLUCKIEST KID IN THE WORLD! WHO THE HELL DO THEY THINK THEY'RE TALKING ABOUT?! KEANU FUCKING REEVES?!

"Oh no, no, see here! You are the Chosen One! You can and will be successful! How could I ever doubt you?" says Alfred with a serene smile that floors me. I stare at him wide-eyed and jaw-dropped for what feels like at least the millionth time tonight. A cold feeling slowly starts to permeate my body and I get the acute sensation that I'm going to be sick. Chosen One this! Chosen One that! He's mental!

"EASILY! YOU CAN EASILY DOUBT ME! BECAUSE NOT ONLY AM I YOUR-GAH- C-CHOSEN ONE, BUT I'M ALSO TWEEK TWEAK! DOUBT COMES EASILY!" I shout desperately, because this just can't be happening. Not to me! Not now! What could I have possibly done to deserve this?! Sure, I'm a freak of nature, and I'm too loud, and I'm spineless, and I'm by all means annoying, but does all that really warrant all of THIS?! I mean come on!

"And you're also the Chosen One! You can do anything you set your mind to!" Alfred says, assertively confident. There he goes again!! So what if I'm the Chosen One?! It doesn't stop the fact that there's no way in hell I can do this!!

"Yeah Tweek! You can do it!" the others start to say, looking at me with the same supportive grins (well, except Cartman who just gives me a look that's says 'you better god damn do it you fucking pussy'). Lunatics! They're all lunatics! ME? Save the world? HAVE THEY LOST THEIR FREAKING MINDS?! SERIOUSLY, DO THEY EVEN REMEMBER WHO THEY'RE TALKING ABOUT?!

I reel back, nauseous with fear and absolute horror. I can already see the volcanoes erupting, the people screaming, and demons and gnomes killing, pillaging, and raping. I can almost _smell _the sulfur and smoke as cities are burned down to the ground all because I couldn't save them. I'm going to be sick. OH GOD I'M GOING TO BE SICK! "NO! This is too much pressure! WAY, WAY, WAY TOO much pressure! Like, HOLY GOD NO! I can't do this! I CAN'T!" A pause. "I can't," I whisper hoarsely, almost to myself. I'm scared. I'm so scared, I'm shaking which is actually considerably normal but this time, it's much, much worse. Like, Holy Christ, it's SO much worse.

There's a sudden tiny pressure on my shoulder and when I look up, I find myself face to face with the elderly gnome. But before I can panic and jump back I notice something strange. First of all, his weathered grandfatherly face is smiling down at me, and it's creepy as hell, but there's something about his eyes that startle me. Something like… no, it can't be… but it is! It's trust! It's trust, confidence, and belief in my abilities that I see gleaming in his kind old eyes.

I stop thinking about the apocalypse that's right around the corner for just a second to ponder something. This… this gnome, this creature of which I've been terrified all my life and made out to be some sort of nightmarish figure, actually believes in _me! _No one's _ever _believed in me before! My own _parents_ don't even believe in me, let alone my friends, or teachers or classmates! This… this is weird. This is BEYOND weird. I can't believe of all things to actually trust me, it's a GNOME! Despite my panic and fear and nausea, a small blossom of happiness blooms in my chest and I feel warm and happy inside like never before.

"But you can my friend!" Alfred exclaims beaming confidently, his words suddenly starting to sound believable. "You're blessed! Like I said, you can do anything as long as you believe in yourself! Because you have luck by your side whether you think so or not, and… a very good friend too." He adds mysteriously with a mischievous smile and dare I say it, my hopes rise some more. Or maybe it's just the bile that's surely creeping up my throat.

"A friend? What friend?" I ask, my ears pricking up. Does this mean I'm not going to be alone? I don't have to suffer by myself? My confidence starts to slowly build despite itself as life begins to look a little more rosy.

"A friend. The friend. From the prophecy. A different prophecy, but a prophecy nonetheless," Alfred says stoically, folding his hands in front of him as he climbs off the table he'd jumped on top of, and back into his highchair.

There's a clatter and an 'Oh GOD' and I look up to see Craig standing up in his seat, with the strangest look on his face. "Do you mean that Peruvian Flute Band savior disaster?" Craig demands, his hands firmly on the table.

Cartman, Stan and Kyle look at each other with similar expressions and say, "ARE YOU SERIOUS?" Cartman for some reason looks the most shocked though.

"Yes. Not only were you a Savior for the Peruvians from the Furry Death, you're also the Companion as foretold in the Book of Tide. A best friend who is said to lead the Chosen One onto the fields of Victory. Ah, the beauty of friendship!" Alfred titters to himself, and finally after what feels like forever, a smile breaks across the plain of Craig's face like the sun over a frozen Siberian steppe. It's about time he got the sand out of his freaking vagina.

"Now, I know a friend of a friend of a cousin of mine who can help you get in. But I warn you now, the journey will be costly. And dangerous, naturally. In fact, there's a good chance you could die if you're caught," says Alfred seriously, looking me levelly in the eye as Craig sinks back into his seat, grinning like a moron to himself. How can he smile at a time like this?! God I really am surrounded by lunatics!

"DIE?! AS IN DEATH?!" I yelp. Stupid yes, but maybe it's some laundry pun or something! This guy seems to be full of them. Well, maybe not, but you can hope right? RIGHT?!

"Yes. As in death. I doubt they'd bleach you or color your hair purple right on the spot. Of course death!"

A squeak of panic issues from my throat, but I feel a warm hand clamp over my own. Craig peeks at me from the corner of his eye, and gives another smile. Suddenly the blues, and the yellows and the reds and the greens around me seem to crackle with vivid color and I slowly start to realize that everything around me from the cool familiar cash register to the neon exit sign, to the people around me could be lost if I don't act now. And suddenly, I'm not alone and scared of dying, but instead I find myself surrounded by people that at least sort of care about my now not-so-meaningless existence and interested in mattering, which is definitely a first for me. It's not everyday a loser like me gets to save the world and be all important, you know.

I gulp as I think to myself that if I were to look back at this particular moment of personal history, and find that I didn't take the chance, well, I think that maybe--_maybe_ I'd regret it. Which is absolutely fucking insane on my part, but I can't help but think that maybe I could do this. Maybe I really am the Chosen One, and it's my destiny to save the world. But maybe I really am just crazy. But on the other hand, maybe me not taking the opportunity would make me crazier! Because who else is going to do the job? No one! And I can't just sit here and watch my friends and family suffer because I was a pussy, like Cartman said earlier!

At this moment, I choose to glance up at Cartman who glares at me and discreetly waves a folded up wad of paper that I know to be the contract. I gulp in terror as he evilly draws a line across his throat, but before I can panic all over again, I realize that I don't really have to feel forced into this. I mean, sure I don't actually have any choice in the matter, but I can still choose to do this, despite what fatass or anyone else has to say. Because now, things are different. Well, obviously things are different with the whole apocalypse/revolution thing going on, but it's the circumstances too. The tables have turned. Instead of me being stuck at the world's beck and call, it's the world at _my_ whim this time around. And I _want_ to do the right thing since the world never would. God, maybe I really AM crazy...

"Well, I suppose what it comes down to is, will you do it? Will you, Tweek, take your position as Chosen One and, for the love of all things Laundry, complete this mission and save the three worlds? Well? Will you?" Alfred implores apprehensively, and the others turns to look at me hopefully. Before I can even consider the amount of pressure that is in itself, the words tumble out of my mouth as if on their own.

"I'll do it," I say, and I say it with a conviction that surprises even me. Cartman stares at me oddly while everyone else exchanges similarly surprised expressions. I guess he didn't expect that response. I didn't even expect that response! But, I just suddenly feel like I can possibly, _maybe, _PERHAPS do this. I watch as more smiles break loose, and then, there's the clapping.

My brows furrow. What the hell? Everyone's suddenly standing up and clapping for me. _Me_. Gah! That's so cliché! Just when I start flushing at the attention I'm receiving, I realize something very important: NOW I HAVE THE ENTIRE _WORLD_ COUNTING ON ME.

My insides twist in on themselves as I realize that this is WAY TOO MUCH FUCKING PRESSURE!!! I MEAN WHAT THE HELL AM I THINKING?! WHAT IF I FAIL?! THEN I SCREW OVER NOT ONLY MY WORLD BUT TWO OTHERS! WHAT THE FUCK, WHAT THE FUCK?!

"Well, now that this decision has been decided, shouldn't the birthday boy get something that's been a long time coming?" Some one says, patting me on the back while I choke and gag on my own STUPIDITY. OH GOD! What was I thinking? What was I THINKING?! STUPID! STUPID! STUPID! I MEAN, SURE I DIDN'T HAVE ANY CHOICE IN THE MATTER BECAUSE I'M NOT THAT BIG OF A DOUCHE, BUT COME ON!! I COULD HAVE _AT LEAST _RESISTED A LITTLE MORE STRONGLY OR TRIED HARDER TO TALK MY WAY OUT OF IT!

"Yeah! Break out some of that coffee cake! I'll brew some more of that coffee and we'll discuss game plans," I hear Stan say from far away and other voices join in and agree with him. I'm an IDIOT! AN IDIOT! It's when I lay my head on the table so no one can see my pained look that I hear a small cough for attention.

"Erm, you gahs," Cartman cuts in an obviously fake polite voice. Stupid…stupid…. stupid? I look up and see the fatass wringing his hands and doing the same sort of awkward swaying motion he pulled with his mom earlier. "I got to like, go home now. It's kinda late and I'm soooo tired." He says in that voice. THE voice. The one he always uses when he's trying to get out of something. I also take in the fact that he's been suspiciously quiet all night long except maybe once. And I know for a FACT that a quiet fatass is a dangerous fatass.

"But Cartman…coffee cake," Stan says, gesturing to a plate of glistening moist cake.

Cartman stares wide-eyed at it, and I swear to God, I'm so sure he's about to start drooling all over himself, but instead he shakes his head and says, "Well, I'm just sooo exhausted. You know. From a hard night's work and all."

"But…coffee cake," Craig says, dumbfounded. "Aren't you, you know… hungry?"

"No. I lost my appetite when I saw Kyle's dirty Jew face," Cartman answers smugly, and sticks his tongue out at Kyle.

"But a fatass like you never loses his appetite!" Kyle interjects, and this time it isn't an angry comeback, but painfully honest.

"ALRIGHT THAT'S IT! SCREW YOU GAHS I'M GOIN HOME!" Cartman erupts, and leaves the coffee shop in an angry blur… just like he wanted to.

"HE'S UP TO SOMETHING AGAIN!" Kyle instantly yells the second the door closes.

"Again with this? Come on dude. Just chill out," Stan mutters, bringing a hand to massage his forehead.

Apparently Kyle's thinking the same thing I am. He's up to something.

"No way dude. I agree," Craig cuts in. "The fatass not hungry? No fucking way."

"Okay, so maybe he's up to something. But it's just the fatass. What can he do?" Stan says, relenting. He sounds exasperated and tired. I guess he's not used to staying up so late and the stress is getting to him. Hah! Stress? _Stress? _He doesn't even know what stress IS! Being the world's fucking savior, now THAT'S stress! Oh GOD! I want to cry. I'm GOING to cry! I'm going to cry and then explode from pressure and DIE!

"Do you really want to know?" Craig inquires, raising one dark eyebrow.

"No. Not at all," Stan says with an understandable shudder. I doubt anyone wants to question the fatass' capabilities at this point. It's too much to even consider with all this apocalypse stuff so close on the mind, and I'm sure all of us are feeling the weariness that comes with staying up all night long. I know I am. Or at least, now I am.

"Didn't think so," Kyle spits bitterly, crossing his arms.

"Well, let's just forget about him for now," Stan says in that reassuring tone he has, while clapping a hand on Kyle's shoulder.

"Yeah, it's probably nothing. Something retarded probably" Token adds in while pulling out some clean coffee mugs from beneath the counter for Clyde to fill with another fresh pot of brewed coffee.

"Yeah. Right. Probably," Kyle states at the floor in a completely disbelieving voice. He glances up at me for some reason and gives a small unsure smile. I guess he's attempting to trick himself into believing that by some incredible way, shape, or form, Cartman really isn't hungry. Which must mean the world really _is _close to its end.

"Who wants cake and coffee?!" Clyde shouts with Alfred on his shoulders slurping from a sloshing mug brimming with liquid sunshine. And just like that, the long awaited festivities begin with a new start and all problems slip away. If only for now.

I sigh and glumly sink back down in my seat. Just when I'm about to woe life and all of it's shortcomings, I feel a light tapping on my shoulder. I glance up tiredly and see Craig smiling crookedly down at me again, this time wielding two cups of coffee. "Don't worry Tweek. We'll get through it. Somehow." He gives a small unsure laugh and hands me a mug, which I take carefully and set down gently in front of myself. Wow. How did he know just what to say? Relief floods my body, and cools my overheated mind. I note distantly that I haven't even taken a sip of coffee yet but the thoughts forgotten by the next second. I let out a breath I don't recall holding and smile back at him.

"Y-yeah. I guess so," _Because even though this sucks so much ass, as long as I have my best friend with me I can handle anything,_ I want to add, but don't feel the need to say what we both already know. We clink mugs together in a private 'cheers' and drink to saving the world and what not. And yet all the scalding hot coffee in the world couldn't numb the knowledge that the world is on fire and I'm the one stuck putting it out, and now on top of that, fatass is up to something. I know that about as much as I know that I've just happily signed my death wish for the second time tonight. But when I close my eyes, and tip into my coffee, at least I can pretend a little too.

****

To Be Continued…

* * *

**End Note:**

**Okay. So that was the turning point, or at least one of them. The question on my mind is what did YOU think of it? I love hearing your thoughts and opinions and all that fun stuff and I HOPE that you'll review. Because I worked really hard on this one, and I particularly want to know what you guys thought of it. Oh, and I also wanted to thank everyone who HAS reviewed. I love you guys so much. Anyhoos, I'll see you next update! TELL ME WHAT YOU THOUGHT!! :)**


	10. While You Were Out

**AN: Holy crap! Chapter 10! It's done! And I totally reached my goal of 40 reviews!! Technically it's 50 now which is beyond my earthly comprehension. You have no idea how exciting that is. Really, it's super exciting. So anywhoozle, fun, fun, FUN things in this literary pursuit, even MAGICAL things. The plot thickens and expands as the tenth phase of TYS unfolds! Read and you will discover the worst way to die, French men wishing to bomb IHOP, hot Scottsmen, and an even hotter Hell. I suggest reading, and then, if you totally like what you read, reviewing! They're really encouraging :D**

**

* * *

**

**Phase 10: While You Were Out**

**Kenny**

Hello there. My name is Kenneth McCormick. Please for the love of God, call me Kenny. If for some crazy reason you happen to have no idea who I am, I'm that one kid in the orange parka. You know, the poor one with an inclination for boobs, the latest drug trends, and dying on a daily basis.

Of course. _Now_ you remember me.

Now that that's settled, the reason I'm talking to you/myself is because there are several things horribly wrong with today.

First off, I died in the shower after the nearby blow dryer, courteously placed on the adjacent toilet seat _still plugged in _by my stupid mom, toppled into the bathtub, killing me mid-scrub. Secondly, you should _never_ die in a shower. No one should ever have to go like that-- naked, cold, alone, and covered head to toe in Pantene Pro-V. Trust me, it's just_ wrong_. Thirdly, and most importantly, I've just discovered that humanity is royally fucked. And not just any regular level of fucked; I mean fucked as in the type that Kyle was after the time he bet that he would suck Cartman's balls if the fatass could prove leprechauns were real....and Cartman _did _prove leprechauns were real. Yeah. That fucked.

I discovered this after I was sucked down into the fiery bowels of the Underworld earlier this morning. I should probably start by saying that it's been a while since I've died; my last death was in September after I choked to death on a tic-tac. In Third Grade I had a very strict schedule of dying; in fact, I was usually dead by dinner which was okay because my parents cook for shit. But now in Fourth Grade, my deaths are just every now and then instead of every single fucking day in ways only some sick fuck like Steven Spielberg could dream up. Nowadays, the only thing killing me on a regular day-to-day basis is the rotten fungal deposits my parents term 'meat loaf.' Basically, I didn't know what I was in for after being gone for THREE MONTHS (which may just be my golden record).

I digress. After a half hour long commute on the Trans-Styx Underground Railway, aka, the _Soul Train _(it's Satan, what do you expect?) from Hade's Gates, I found myself wandering my way through the bustling metropolis of Hell. The first thing I noticed was the new decor. Satan, if you don't know him, has amazing fashion and design sense, so when you get sent to Hell, it looks damn good, like a new age Rome with all the fancy modern amenities and cutesy hip boutiques. Think Paris-fancy my friends, Paris-fancy. But you see, the first warning sign I noticed was the fact that all over the place were these hideous red posters all over the place with some gay guy with an intense mustache raising his right hand proclaiming, "Join the Cleansing or I'll Slap You So Super Hard," and immediately underneath that in smaller print, "He'll _Do_ _It_", topped off with a pair of black underpants stamped right beneath it.

Now the problem here is that the red in this particular picture is a _horrible_ fire engine red that does _not _match the decor in this part of town at ALL. I mean I could see this somewhere more unrefined like back in the States, but in Hell? No, something was definitely wrong, because I know for a fact that the devil _would never_ choose such a horrendously clashing color in _this _part of town. He simply would_ not _have it.

The next warning flag was when I picked up a Daily Hellion from a newspaper stand and noticed that it was covered in propaganda with pictures of press meetings and rallies held in the Gnome Province instead of the usual ridiculous news reports on drugs and the latest Republican sex scandals people love reading about. The third warning came when I ran into a gaggle of painfully tacky tourist whose tour guide had driven them _into _the Grand Canyon (Hey, at least the advertisement was true to it's word: "Experience the Grand Canyon Like You've Never Experienced Anything Before! It'll Be Permeanantly Life Changing!") who informed me that the Gnomes are planning an invasion against Humanity's delicates thanks to a switch in power.

So now I'm leaning against the railing along Hell's Boardwalk, wondering how the fuck things could possibly have gotten this bad that quickly. I mean, this is Hell! It's supposed to be my home _away_ from the hell that's South Park! Things are different here; gay Peruvian flute bands don't guard the world from giant guinea pigs, super storms of self-satisfaction from smug Hybrid owners and George Clooney don't wipe out entire cities, and people _certainly_ don't die every single god damn day.

You know why? Because they're already DEAD. And I like that. At least it's fucking stable. And now! Now my only safe haven is fucked up thanks to the culprit of stupidity. I mean seriously? They're going to invade the Human world for UNDERPANTS? What the fuck is going on? There's got to be more to this. I sigh in frustration and look over the side railing at the liquid flames lapping and hissing against the charred wooden beams only a few five feet beneath me. A gust of dry hot wind ruffles my hair and brushes my face, freshly freed from my typical orange hoodie mostly because wearing a hood in hell is fucking retarded.

I watch the lost souls with their children strolling along what has to be my favorite place in Hell. The Boardwalk is certainly Hell's premier tourist attraction, as is the Lake of Fire, which by definition is really more like a sea. The 'lake' itself can't be played in for obvious reasons, but the black stoned beach lining it is nice for sightseeing and walks, so they built the Boardwalk to compensate for it. The platform juts out over open flames and is covered in bars, hotdog and cotten candy stands, undead frat boys and hot chicks, shops and even a small theme park with a huge ferris wheel. It's pretty much the Coney Island of Hell, but filled with dead people. Anyways, it's a great place for people-watching, which happens to be a hobby of mine. Being constantly zipped up in a jacket all day because I'm afraid of catching pneumonia or freezing to death has made me an awesome eavesdropper and people watcher. Especially when those people happen to be wearing a G-string poking over the rim of their way-too-short shorts and exceptionally rocking tits.

But right when I spot the hottie, I also spot another certain someone bee-lining his way through the crowds, glaring and with his hands broodingly stuffed in his dark pockets. I watch, feeling pretty damn amused, since right before he can get to me, a little girl with pigtails, maybe around four or five, (although what does it matter in Hell), breaks away from her disgruntled mom and stands right in his way, demanding two euros for a snowcone (because _everybody _uses the euro, even in Hell). For a moment he just stares at her, pissed off, and it looks like he's going to incinerate her right on the spot when something fantastic happens. My mouth drops open as the Anti-Christ, Satan's one and only son, who just so happens to be my good friend Damien, totally fucking _caves,_ forking up the money and sending the girl skipping and giggling triumphantly all the way back to her mom.

No....way...

"It's about fucking time you showed up. It's been like, three fucking months." He grunts angrily as soon as he reaches me and from the look on his face he's praying I didn't notice his 'encounter'. I remember to quick smirking so much and answer him.

"Yeah I know. It's my golden record, I swear." I grin, clapping him on the back. He sputters and glares up at me uncomfortably. He hates it when I do that. "Dude, it looks like you've made yourself a friend," I laugh, nodding towards the little girl waving to him from atop her mom's shoulders, sticky and covered with blue-raspberry syrup. Damien blanches the second he notices the girl before lowering his head to glare pointedly at the flames hissing below us.

"You didn't see that." He mutters darkly, the warm breeze blowing his black bangs across his forehead.

"I totally did. So what made you cave?" I ask, looking down at him. I've got two inches on him but I can't really gloat since I know what he's capable of. I mean, the first time we met, he turned me into a platypus…

He hesitates for the moment before lowering his head further. "...It was the pigtails." At this I burst out laughing and, just to embarass him, I wink at the little girl who giggles and waves back. I'm not one for cute and cuddly things, like pandas and shit, but she's just adorable.

"Hahaha dude! Some Anti-Christ you're turning out to be!" I choke out through my laughs. "Seriously, caving into any relatively adorable thing with pigtails… how the hell are you planning to destroy humanity?"

"S-SHUT UP!" He shouts embarrassedly, breaking his gaze to glare up at me murderously.

I smirk devilishly and turn around to face the huge crowd of the undead making their way down the walkway to do some late afternoon shopping. His dark eyes widen and he makes to grab my elbow but he's too late. I've already got one hand cupped around my mouth and the other pointing at Damien as I yell at the top of my lungs, "HEY! CHECK IT OUT! THE ANTICHRIST IS A TOTAL PANSY FOR LITTLE GIRLS WITH PIG TAILS!!" Damien's mouth plummets as tons of random passersby turn to stare at us.

"Kenny...I think I'm going to kill you." He whispers hoarsely.

"You wouldn't be the first," I say, shrugging simply with a grin, as I watch the little girl giggle and wave at him again as onlookers look from Damien to the little girl. The black haired boy gapes miserably at the girl, looking at a loss of what to say, until he notices that a group of drunk dudes who've just stumbled out of a bar are pointing and laughing at him. I can hear that trademark fury snapping to life and before I know it, he's going off on them.

"AND JUST WHO THE FUCK DO YOU THINK YOU'RE LAUGHING AT FUCKFACE?!" he shrieks, picking out the douche bag in the forefront of the group, a college guy from the looks of it with a goatee, Hawaiian shirt with collar popped and extra douchey sandals. The vein in his neck jumps and his eyes narrow into deadly slits as he continues to vent his,_ literally_, unholy wrath. "GET YOUR SNIVELLING EYES OFF ME YOU PATHETIC WORM BEFORE I RIP THEM OUT MYSELF!! AND KEEP SMIRKING FATSO! I'LL JUST HAVE YOU DEPORTED TO THE LOWEST PIT OF HELL! THAT STANDS FOR ALL OF YOU! AND I AM NOT A PANSY!!"

The guy's eyes widen in drunken terror and the group hurries off in a Budlight Lime scented stupor, as do the rest of the people hanging around for a show. For a nine year old, a pissed off Damien is something to fear.

He whips around, his dark eyes crackling with anger as they land on me. "AND YOU!" he breathes. "YOU'RE THE WORST!!"

"Dude... you seriously need to get the sand out of your vagina." Ha, sand. More like the entire Sahara Desert. I decide to throw that in and earn a painful smack to the head via Damien's fist.

"Fuck. YOU." He scowls. I blink as the young Anti-Christ stands there huffing angrily for a moment before pulling himself back to his normal brooding, temperamental self. "You know, it's funny that you mentioned it, because I just may not get to be the Anti-Christ." He adds caustically, folding his arms across his chest.

"Hahahaha, you? Not the Anti-Christ? What're you talking about?" I laugh nonchalantly, waving it off.

"Yeah. Me. Not the Anti-Christ. _That's_ what I'm talking about," Damien snaps back.

"What?" My blue eyes open and I face him properly.

"Yeah, some assfuck is stealing my fucking job." He growls, glaring again at the horizon, "Or at least that's what I was going to tell you before you decided to be a total douche bag."

"Whoa, whoa,_ hold up_," I raise my hands up in confusion, "_Who's_ taking your job?"

"Well, if you didn't notice, there's sort of been a complete government take over by my dad's psycho anal douche-bag boyfriend who's Hell-bent on destroying Humanity. That's MY job and this fucker is trying to take it!" He practically spits at me.

"Yeah, I noticed. What the fuck's with those posters? They're totally gay," I snicker and for a moment feel completely at peace, like it's just me, Damien and that Hellish breeze coming in from the coastline. I close my eyes feeling at home, because really, it _is_ home. A really fucked up home in midst of revolution, but home nonetheless.

Damien stops, and looks at me in disgust, "You're unbelievable. How can you possibly laugh at a time like this?! I'm stuck here watching my world crash around me for three months by myself, totally fucking alone with no one to talk to because someone leaves me for THREE MONTHS, and when he finally gets back, all my _best fucking friend _can do is laugh it off!" First off, I'm stung because I realize I've been a real ass, and then I'm amazed for after this something truly magical happens. The second he realizes what he just said, Damien, heartless, uncaring, 'I'm going to destroy the world and take pictures of myself with burning cities on my iPhone for later' Damien Diabolos Lucifer the 2nd, blushes.

He fucking _blushes._ I know this because his usual alabaster cheeks are a pinkish rouge, but understand I do not. My eyes widen and my jaw slackens. Dude...Just...dude.

"W-whoa Damien, I was just joking!" I stutter, feeling the blood rush to my head. "Did you..." I start. No way... he couldn't have. But he was so pissed off that I was gone. And he just said best friend. He's never called me anything like that in the history of ever. He couldn't have...."Did you _miss me?"_

Damien flushes furiously. "NO!" Normally this would appease anyone else, but I can see right through him and the fact that he's pink-cheeked and stumbling doesn't help him at all.

"You _did!" _I practically gasp, covering my mouth. To say I'm astonished would be an understatement. I mean, this is Damien, Mr. Big-Bad-Antichrist! He missed me. He totally missed me.

"I did NOT!" he retaliates, but at this point it's obvious he's lying, especially considering the fact that he's reached a color I would term 'Jewfro red,' the ultimate of all reds.

"You totally missed me." I shake my head and my voice sounds distant and airy.

"I-I-I! I mean--" He sputters. I don't think I've ever seen him so flustered in my life.

"You. Missed me. Holy shit dude."

"FRICK, OKAY, so yes, I did miss you alright?! Can we PLEASE move on now?!" He whispers desperately, his eyes briefly flickering up at mine before darting elsewhere.

I blink slowly, time slowing between the two of us. Then I grin considering this new fact, "Yeah. Okay. I mean shit, sure, okay."

"Thank God…" He rolls his eyes, but I can hear the relief in the sarcasm.

"Sooo you wanna fill me in on what's been going on?" I prompt, feeling like I'm on top of the world. "How did this exactly happen?"

Damien stares at me, the wind ruffling his wavy-ish black hair this way and that, "Kenny, you're something else."

"I know," I grin. "Now, about this revolution thing..."

"Not here," he says, stepping away from the rail suddenly. "We've got to go somewhere less crowded. Just because things seem completely safe--" he takes a glance towards the bunches of people congregating on the boardwalk, "--they're not. He's got ears everywhere. We have to go somewhere safe."

"How about the old fishing pier?" I ask indicating a smaller structure a ways down from the Boardwalk. Since there are no living fish in the Lake of Fire, it's long since been abandoned. Apparently undead fish aren't exactly 'edible', and the Lake Monsters lurking in the fiery depths aren't fun either, so no one really cares for fishing of any sort.

"Yeah that should work," he nods. "Let's get going." With this he starts walking away from me hurriedly, and I follow, looking for any faces that might be lingering a little too long. I don't see anything suspicious though.

After a five minute walk we finally get to the end of the boardwalk and step back onto solid ground, before heading off in the direction of the pier that's just a little way away from us. We don't stop when the casually charred planks gradually meet the smooth black pebbles of the beach and continue until we've reached the pier, that's mostly abandoned except for some crazy French homeless guy rambling about bombing IHOP at the far most end of it. I glance at Damien questionably but he just shrugs it off, wordlessly deeming the obviously disturbed man as harmless. He leans down to sit on the wooden planks of the pier and I follow suit immediately, leaning back against a wooden beam and extending my legs leisurely.

"So you gonna start talking or what?" I say after a moments silence. He looks back at me and nods.

"It's a long story..."

"I'm game."

"Good." He smiles, "So this is what basically happened..."

* * *

**Sharon **

_The young masculine Scotsman reaches out and puts a finger to my lips, his tender brown eyes sparkling with an unspoken passion and love. _

_"Sharon... if you marry me," He whispers, thumbing my cheek ever-so-gently and placing a crown of roses over my long, flowing brunette tresses, "I'll vacuum and take out the trash every single day."_

_"Oh Seamus, do you mean it?" I gasp, basking in the glory of his heated gaze._

_"I swear it on the sun. And I'll even replace the trash bag with a new one so you don't accidentally dump your leftover spaghetti in there, massage your feet every night with exotic oils, leave the toilet seat down and count the calories before I prepare your meals." _

_"You're so romantic..."_

_"I know my love, but not so romantic as you are beautiful. The moon and stars can only blush in your presence, for what are celestial jewels in the crystalline perfection of your smile?" __says Seamus, tenderly plucking a nearby flower, yet unopened. "And see here! Even the flowers hide their budding faces for they know well they be the plainest of weeds when compared to one so lovely, no noble, so striking. Why, even the rose with her guarded smile is mottled by the green thorns of jealousy at the thought of your perfection. __But first...I need you Sharon. There is an aching in my chest, a scalding hot fire burning within me, and you my love, have drawn me, with the healing salves of your kiss, and soothed my most tender affections. Sharon, I know I speak swiftly now, but please hear my words, for they be my very soul speakin'....I need your sweet love to exist, I crave you with every fiber of my being. Give me meaning to live, give me my ambitions."_

_"By what ambitions do you mean?" I ask, the wind tossling my silken hair._

_"My ambitions to serve you with the whole of me for all of time." __His intense blue eyes linger on mine and he gently grasps my hand. _

_"Seamus... you may have your ambitions." I breathe, flushing. _

_"And have them I shall," he whispers in the cusp of my ear, the bagpipes slipping a little further down his naked sunkissed flank, slowly slowly creeping down to expose his----_

"OH MY GOD! SHARON! SHARON YOU GOTTA WAKE UP!!" Oh no. Not again. Please not now, when it's just getting good. I roll over in bed and squeeze my eyes shut as the meadow we're lying in begins to fade away. I snuggle to my pillow a little tighter and will the dream to return to me. Now let's see what's under those bagpipes...

"SHARON! SHARON WAKE UP! _SHARON!!" _

_"Randy,"_ I murmur twisting to see the nearby alarm clock. The blinking blurred red digits tell me it's definitely too early to even consider dealing with my husband. "Randy, it's 4 in the damn morning. Go back to sleep." I yawn and hide myself away in an oasis of blankets and pillows.

_"Sharon..." Seamus murmurs slowly creeping towards me on my bed of blossoming flowers. "Sharon, wake up." _

_He reaches his hand out and touches my shoulder gently._

"NO! NO SHARON! WAKE UP!"

I jump out from bed to see Randy shaking me wildly.

"OH FOR LOVE OF GOD RANDY WHAT THE HELL IS IT?!" I snap, ripping myself from his grip. The scent of alcohol hits my nostrils, and I groan. This is what I get for marrying too soon. Mother always said to wait 'til 24 before you throw your freedom away for serving the Man but nooo, I just couldn't wait one more frickin' year. God knows I could've been a doctor or a lawyer making three times my annual salary and living in Tuscany with a sexy Italian chef named Armando who actually respects my views and doesn't hold my head under the covers whenever he farts! Why oh _why_ didn't I listen to her?

"Sharon, there's something in the _house!" _Randy whispers urgently, and the moonlight pouring in from the nearby illuminates his scruffy, terrified face.

"What?!" I immediately bolt up right in bed as a cold chill trickles down my spine. "What's going on? Who's in the house?!"

"I-I don't know! I was sitting right there! On the couch...when I saw this_.. .thing _run down the stairs...from the bedroom. _Our_ bedroom." Randy says, scratching at his stubble.

"What Randy?! What thing?!"

"Sharon..." Randy starts off hesitantly, turning his wide frightened eyes to mine, "Have you ever seen those....Travelocity commercials?"

"You mean the ones with the Roaming Gnome? Yeah, but what does this have to do with--"

"IT WAS JUST LIKE THAT SHARON!" Randy shouts, trembling ever so slightly. "It was_ just like that..."_

"Randy," I start off skeptically, "Are you telling me that you think you saw the Travelocity Gnome in our house?"

"No! I saw something_ like _that! Gah Sharon, don't you listen?!"

"Randy, gnomes don't _exist!_ You've been drinking haven't you?" Honestly, I never should have gotten him that Margaritaville Maker with the salsa dispenser. Sure it was a great buy, but really, it's _too_ convenient.

"DO THEY SHARON?! _Do they_?" Randy cries, completely ignoring my question.

"No, they DON'T." I remark dryly.

"Sharon, I can't necessarily explain what happened tonight. Maybe it was the upside down margaritas, or maybe it was the Bloody Mary's, or maybe it was a combination of the both." I protest at the little addition but Randy shushes me. He continues, "_but_ I know I saw something Sharon! I just know it!"

"But Randy--"

"Sharon...if you don't believe me about the gnomes....then at least believe me that someone.. no, _something _was here." He stands up, the darkness hiding his eyes.

I stare at the man who is unfortunately my husbandfor a moment and finally mutter, "I'm going back to sleep."

"Just look Sharon! Look for yourself!" He whispers hoarsely, pointing somewhere beyond the nightstand with it's blinking alarm clock, towards the shadow of our dresser. And there, in the moonlight I see it, the top drawer hanging out, completely, and utterly devoid of our underwear. Even.... the _naughty_ ones.

"OH MY GOD! RANDY! WE'VE BEEN ROBBED!!" I scream, clutching the blanket around my chest, and as I scream I fail to notice the small dark figure dart from its position by the bedroom door, down the stairs, and out the patio door, a small bundle on it's back.

Once outside, the miniature creature looks around the backyard devoid of life except for a nearby squirrel. Reaching down, it clicks a small button on the radio transmitter on it's shirt and begins to speak. "The task has been completed. The Marsh home has been cleansed, as have the others. I think the drunk, stupid one saw me though."

"Very good Clarence," a sensual, almost chocolaty voice replies through the static. "Do not fret about the Mr. Marsh. We'll have him taken care of in due time. In the meanwhile, he's a notorious drunk. Gnomes stealing underpants in the middle of the night is something only a crack addict would dream up. No one will believe him. Now, to the topic at hand. The others have come to me with news: the Chosen One's abode has been located and the Rosen Ones collected. Your next assignment is top secret and essential to the Cause. Do you accept?"

The gnome known as Clarence cackles into his tiny transmitter. "I accept. You can trust that I shall do thy bidding well Master. May I ask what the task at hand shall be?"

A laugh comes from the other end and one can hear the amused smirk in the connection. "Are you familiar with the term 'hostage'?"

"As in taking a captive for some sort of ransom?" Clarence asks, narrowing his eyes at the encroaching squirrel before meanly throwing a nearby pebble at it.

"Yes, Clarence. A captive, and most definitely for some sort of ransom."

"Excellent," the gnome cackles, his shark-like teeth glistening in the moonlight like daggers.

"Indeed. The others are heading back to Headquarters for the time being; however, your new partner shall be arriving shortly and it's best that you meet with him. Now go, Clarence, go make your fellow gnomes proud. Make _me _proud."

"Of course Master! I shall make you proud, I swear it! May the end of the Humans begin today!"

"Yes. May their end begin today."

* * *

**Kenny**

"...And that's basically what happened." Damien finally finishes with a grunt. I try to un-drop my jaw, but fail. Miserably.

"Dude...." I start to say, but then I find that there really isn't anything _to_ say. "...Are you fucking kidding me?" I wind up asking just for the Hell of it.

"No. I never kid." The young Anti-Christ shakes his head solemnly and his eyes flash. "You know that more than anyone. Remember? I have the entire Sahara Desert up my vagina? Douche."

At this point, any insults don't even break my train of thought. My brows knit as I try to put it all together, and I run my fingers over the back of my neck. "So...Hell's in the middle of a violent revolution, there's this whole Big Brother thing going on now, and it's all because of underpants?"

"Yeah, pretty much." Damien nods simply.

"But where's Satan in all of this?! Why hasn't your dad done anything about it?!" I ask, looking at him.

"Lost in an endless cycle of exercising, watching Lifetime, and eating ice cream. That son of a bitch told him he was getting a little chubby, and Dad went berserk. It's like he freaking brainwashed him, though I wouldn't put that past him."

"Really? Lifetime? I thought he'd be more into Oxygen, or WE..."

"He is. He's been mixing them more and more lately. I'm afraid he's getting worse..." Damien murmurs, concern glazing his words.

"What about Oprah?" I question, my own worries beginning to rise as well.

Damien looks like he's struggling to speak when he nods and says, "Her too."

"Good God," I murmur, rubbing my chin. "But...how did you know all about this ulterior planning?"

"It was late. I wanted water and when I went to get some, I overheard the jackass talking on the phone, probably to one of his cronies. So, I ended up eavesdropping for three hours." Damien says. "Oh, don't look at me like that, I'm the fucking Anti-Christ, I'll do what I want. Anyways, he was spilling all of his plans to his partner I guess, and I heard everything. I warned the previous Commanding Chief of the Council and told him what I heard, but it was too late--the Order got to him before he could do anything about it and imprisoned him somewhere in the 7th ring of Hell with the rest of the old Council. But I sent a messenger, a gnome working for the counter rebellion to forewarn the Chosen One. I can really only hope that he hasn't been intercepted or captured. As for me, I don't doubt He'll be coming after me next."

"So what should I do?" I ask him growing attentive to the imminent danger.

"You? You'll go back to your world and warn your friends. Also, I need you to find the Chosen One, and tell him as well. If he has the messenger, tell him everything you know, and that I'll be setting up a caravan down here. My cousins work for a Theatre Troupe, and they'll help the Chosen One into the interior Palaces in the 6th Ring. Go to the Holiday Inn on Scream Street and look for my cousins. I can't make it, since it's too risky, but knowing them, they'll be there."

"But what do your cousins look like? How will I know it's them?" I ask skeptically. "And how do we get down here in the first place? If we put Tweek on the Soul Train, people will be bound to notice him."

"Trust me, you'll know when you see them. They'll find you first, I swear it," Damien mutters, a certain weariness darkening his face. "The Messenger will be able to get all of you down here while avoiding the Soul Train."

"But what about you?" I ask, anxiety biting at my insides.

"Me? For now I'll be down here, doing what I can to break Dad out of his trance. I have to intercept a package that's supposed to get here today."

"What is it?"

"Richard Simmons: Sweatin' to the Oldies. You know how Dad adores that man. If he gets that DVD, I'll _never _get through to him. Any more questions?"

"Yeah....um... who exactly IS the Chosen One?" I sheepishly rub my arm, and look up at him with a guilty smile.

"Are fucking kidding me?" Damien cries, "How do _you _not know who the Chosen One is?! You practically live down here!"

"I just don't know, okay!?"

"But his face is all over the Gnome Province! He's on everything nowadays! He's even got a FESTIVAL for his honor!"

"Well, jeez, maybe I'm just not that observant of my surroundings Mr. Perfect," I snark, rolling my eyes.

Damien sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. "God damn it, Kenny."

"Dude, just tell me who he is, Jesus Christ." I mutter, slouching over the wooden rails lazily.

"Okay, okay, okay whatever," Damien mumbles. "He's that crazy kid at your school."

"Well fuck, that's descriptive. My entire TOWN is crazy. What's he look like?" I grunt, eyes focused on the flames below. The French dude at the furthest end of the pier is still going on about bombing IHOP and frankly it's pissing me off. It's one thing to talk to yourself, but to talk bomb threats with you, yourself and not me is retarded. Someone needs to just push him over the side or something because he's off the deep end.

"Oh wait, here," Damien reaches and pulls out a key chain from his pocket. Beside a shrunken head and a pair of crimson skull dice is a key chain that says, 'I HEART TWEEK.' At first I don't really notice, but when I really take a look at it feels like my eyes have bulged out of their sockets, or like my life's been flipped like a syrup choked flapjack.

"Wait. Are you saying TWEEK is the Chosen One? The crazy blond freak with the twitch? _That_ Tweek?!"

"It's talk like that that got you idiots in this mess," Damien scolds, his dark eyes narrowing on me. "Yes, that one!"

"Well I'll be fucking damned," I murmur looking up at the sky.

"You already are," Damien remarks dryly from my side.

I shake my head and look off over the rails of the small fishing pier. All I can see for miles are the burning crests of flames crashing on the black stone beach, flickering against the dimming horizon as the Hellion sun sets. Where the rays hit, the sky gleams gold, orange and red, while the shadows bruise blues, purples and black. And against the fiery afterglow of the day, is the silhouette of the Ferris wheel, turning against the sunset, the happy screams and shrieks of children and people echoing back to my ears. Damien, watching my eyes, follows them and murmurs, "It's kind of pretty in an eternally damned way, huh?"

"Yeah. It is," I agree quietly, thinking that all of it could be lost if things get any worse.

"So, you'll help right?" Damien asks after a few minutes of silence.

"Duh, of course I will. The question is, why are YOU helping. I mean, you're the Anti-Christ, and here you are trying to help save the world? Man, I mean the little girl thing was pretty soft, but WOW..."

"WILL YOU FORGET ABOUT THAT ALREADY?!" Damien explodes flushing angrily, "And I'm NOT getting soft. The world just isn't fucked up enough for the Apocalypse yet. Maybe in another 20, 30 years, when the environment gets REALLY out of line and I'm sick of the sniveling humans, but not now. Trust me, I'm the Anti-Christ, I can sense these things. And besides, don't you watch Earth? That's like, my favorite show. War, famine, dictatorships, witch hunts, and all of those fun-loving terrorists are just awesome. Why would I want it canceled now, and by some fucking douche who isn't even me at that? If the world goes off the air, I'M the one putting it off," He huffs, pointing his thumb at his chest.

"I see.... so basically, you're saving humanity so YOU can destroy it." I stare at him levelly and note the seriousness in his voice.

"Uh huh. Yeah, that's about it. If you must know, if I was more powerful I'd take out the douche myself, but I don't have my horns y'see." He points to his hornless head. "So the most I can do is help the Chosen One and help him into back into Hell. He should be able to relocate the Golden Briefs of God and return them to where they belong, and once Dickface doesn't have the briefs, he'll be powerless once more."

"So...the Golden Briefs gave him supernatural powers?"

Damien nods, "And control over all Underpants and Gnomes."

I suck in a breath, "Oh, well that's--that's just fucking wonderful. Really, that's great to know." I pinch the bridge of my nose and sigh, before realizing the fact that the sun is setting. "Oh shit, I gotta get going!" I gasp, combing my hand through my hair. "If it's getting late here, I can only _imagine_ how late it is over there! Crap, crap, crap! Do you know what time it is??"

"It should be around 4:45 in the morning over there," says Damien right off the top of his head.

"Oh. Well, then I_ really _have to get going." Jesus, how did I not notice how late it was getting over here! Especially considering that Hell's time is about 10 hours behind South Park.

"Uh huh." Damien nods again, but doesn't move a muscle. Another hot breath of wind ruffles his onyx waves and they, like the flames below us, seethe and crash about his head wildly.

"Um...aren't you going to give me my ticket stub back home?" I raise a brow at his inaction.

"Nah. Too dangerous." He says shaking his head, but by the evil crooked smile I'm panicking at whatever idea he's got brewing in that hornless head of his. A grin like that only speaks of vengeance for past grievances, and I _know _he's all for that black sort of justice. "_Actually_, I've been practicing my teleportation anyways and need a test subject. I think you know where I'm going with this; and after your show earlier I'd suggest you agree to it. Now."

My eyes widen and my heart starts a racket in my chest, which has always amused me since I'm supposed to be 'dead'.

"I don't mean to question your abilities but do you know what you're doing?" I nearly sputter over my nervous laughing. Seriously, I am NOT getting sent to some freaky parallel universe. Not this time. I've already died in the shower, COLD, NAKED, AND ALONE, found out humanity was fucked and that my delightful oasis called Hell is up in flames (literally _and _figuratively) , AND it's all because of something completely stupid and ridiculous AGAIN. My day's been difficult enough as it is, I don't NEED this too.

"Of course I know what I'm doing!" Damien snaps in a way that's supposed to be assuring but unfortunately, he's the Anti-Christ. He's not the most assuring person in the world, of that_ I _can assure you.

"If you're sure.... so I guess I'll see you later then?" I ask uneasily.

"Yeah, see ya dude," he says. I close my eyes tightly and pray to every god, deity, and prophet I know that I don't wind up in some alternate universe because that'd be really, really gay. I've covered God, Allah, Buddha, Thor, and even Muhammad Ali when Damien finally snaps his fingers and the world tumbles away from me. Surprisingly, traveling across dimensions in the blink of an eye doesn't really have a horrible or nauseating feeling. It's just a weird sensation like walking across an elevator as it goes up, and then it's over. By the fact that I'm now on my ass in a place that doesn't smell like sulphur and lilac tells me the horror is over. I mutter another prayer before reluctantly prying open one eye, and then the other. I blink and as my focus adjusts, I find myself on a floor.

That's the first thing I notice.

And it's not the grimy wood flooring I'm used to, which brings me to the second thing I notice: I'm not in my room. Glancing around at the nicer interior, and warm, toasty feeling thanks in part to a heater, I realize that I'm not even in my house, OR anywhere near my neighborhood in general. A glance at the seated stuffed frog peering at me from the nearby bed tells me that I'm no where near home. Where am I? I'm at fucking Cartman's. At 4 in the morning. And guess what? Tweek's house is at least a couple blocks away. FUCK!!

But before I can_ really _get into cursing Damien's existence, voices are heard outside in the hall, and I roll under the empty bed just as the Fatass himself swings open the door to his bedroom. _Damien, _I think to myself from under the dark, dusty nether regions of Cartman's bed as a lamp flickers on and Cartman begins to speak, _you need a lot more fucking practice._

**To Be Continued...**

* * *

**End Note:**

**Hahahaha and now we see what's happening outside of it all. I'm so totally happy I'm done with this, especially because I had to rewrite it!! I think it beats the original by far, so yeah! For rizzle my nizzle extra salt on the grizzle! Dr. Pepper my brotha, and anotha fo yo motha, double double supa size and don't forget the fries! And that's about it :P**

**No it's not. I lie. First, two notes on the content of this chapter I'd like to share with you:**

**Note 1: The shower thing? That came from the fantasmical show of Ghost Adventures, from the mouth of Aaron the tech guy. Seriously, that show is the SHIT! Check it out, it's on Travel channel Fridays around 9ish. It's hilarious. Trust me.**

**Note 2: The French guy with IHOP? That is based on a real situation me, Jessica (my best friend) and Kaitlin (My sister, Rawxramen, who writes the cutest SP drabbles which I also recommend) were in, in which a French guy was outside of Albertsons, totally drunk and yelling through the automatic doors tons of curse words afterwhich he would take a few steps back, pace around talking to himself and then start rambling about bombing the International House of Pancakes. Why, I do not know but the next day on the news there was a bomb threat at the local IHOP. Guess he didn't like pancakes or grocery stores.**

**So? Your thoughts? Do you LIKE where this is going? Do you not? Is this what you were expecting and if not what WERE you expecting? These are all questions that you can answer if you really are_ that _speechless after these past few mindblowing episodes. Come on, I'm giving you a format for reviewing, at least tell me if it's horrible and a complete displeasure to your existence. That way I know how I can IMPROVE! To those who DO review: HOLY GOD THANK YOU SO MUCH!!!! I appreciate it SUPER much. Yes, SUPER much. That's like, beyond much. I'd say 'super-dee-duper much' but that's just obnoxious. Shout out to the beloved KC for editing my endless stream of bullshit, and the lovely RisaShootingStar who is totally one of the most awesome chicas in the world!! Why? SHE DREW ME FANART!!! To see beautiful works of TYS related art, go to my author page and clicky the link. She's fabulous I swear.**

**Much love to everyone who reads, and even more love to those who review, fav, alert etc.**

**-Brittany (See? Now we're getting familiar around here :D)**


End file.
